


In the name of neurosis

by rear_admiral_rimmer



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: 2010, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Board Games, Customer Service, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Retail AU, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rear_admiral_rimmer/pseuds/rear_admiral_rimmer
Summary: Dave Lister, who's had what you could call pretty smeggy 23 years, is currently trying to make it work in London by doing bare minimum. Rimmer is a neurotic, hard-working retail employee who wishes they never had the misfortune to hire Dave Lister.
Relationships: Brief Yvonne McGruder/Arnold Rimmer, Brief/one-sided Dave Lister/Kristine Kochanski, Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer, Kryten/Camille
Comments: 40
Kudos: 38





	1. New beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I've FINALLY decided to start posting this! My first ever posted RD fic after years of lurking and planning and writing in secret. I've agonised over this story for more than 2 smegging years, it's undergone so many changes it's basically a different story now. But you know what - it's time. 
> 
> It's set in 2010 - don't ask me how I arrived to that decision, I have no idea but I just went with it. That decade doesn't get enough love anyway, I wanted it to be modern but 2020 is a bit /too/ in the face. It's sort of an appreciation of my teenage years era. Sorry if something doesn't quite fit but I was not an adult in UK at that time so I did my best to portray it lol. It doesn't really matter anyway.
> 
> Furthermore, this is my healing from the PTSD of working in retail and hospitality, which you can probably tell lol. May all of you with the same fate be healed by this fic. I deliberately tried to obscure the name of the shop because i'm promoting no one but let's face it, this is probably t*sco.
> 
> If you enjoy AU, you might enjoy this. If you don't...maybe don't read. The beginning might seem as a bit of a drag but bear with me because it's all about Rimmer/Lister. I'm thinking this might have about 20-30 chapters, from which I've written about a third so far. Enjoy, feedback is appreciated!

**Prologue**

_4 years ago_

Dave Lister didn’t have much hope left anymore. And that was saying a lot, as hope was practically his second name. His third name was Cinzano Bianco, and he would sell his soul without hesitation for even one of those right about now. He sat in a small, cold room which had less personality than a contestant on the Bachelor. He tried to strike a few chords on his guitar – one of the few things keeping him going. But the withdrawals left his hands shaky.

He sighed in frustration, setting the instrument down. He felt irritable and helpless, so he started pacing the room. The other bed in the poorly lit room was neat and empty as his roommate left the clinic a few days ago. By this time, they usually stuffed it with another lost cause, keeping them there until they were ready to leave again – one way or another. Okay, that was harsh, the rehabilitation rates of the clinic were good, it was just hard for Lister to believe since now he felt like smeg, and if he didn’t get a fix of some kind real soon, he would lose his mind.

Itching for any kind of distraction, Lister decided to stretch his legs around this madhouse. He put on his custom leather jacket – the second and about the last thing reminding him who he was, and started walking down the hall. Coincidentally, one of the social workers appeared around the corner with a young man in tow.

“Dave, I was just about to talk to you.” She said, and he smiled back at her, just because she was one of the decent ones. Well, and she was pretty, too. “I would like to introduce you to your new roommate. This is Duane.”

The new guy sported an oversized old jacket with an ugly checked sweater vest peeking from under. He seemed slightly disoriented, clutching a rusty thermoflask. Poor guy, Lister cringed internally. 

“Dave Lister.” He nodded politely, fumbling with one of the small chains hanging from his jacket.

“I’m Duane Dibbley.” The new incomer said shily as he lifted his head to reveal his face from under the bowlcut. His face suddenly lightened up with a dorky smile. He was about the dorkiest person Lister had ever seen. And this guy was using? He thought. But then again, he learned people were never what they seemed, especially around this place, and Lister wasn’t one to judge. It might even prove interesting to get to know him.

Since meeting Duane several days ago, it’s been a rollercoaster. Lister wasn’t quite sure if living with him was good or bad for him. Duane kept to himself a lot of the time and seemed to fear Lister at first. Lister learned that losing the leather jacket made him look less threatening and trying to smile more seemed to relieve Duane’s anxiety. Soon he started to understand him better. Duane seemed to have deep hatred for himself which seemed to be greatly exacerbated since he was left to live with his grandfather. He had looked for ways of intense escapism which started with abusing whatever he found in his grandfather’s medical cabinet and whatever he got prescribed for mild developmental disorders he might or might not actually need to be prescribed. He never experimented much with more ‘illegal’ stuff like Lister did, but the result was almost as devastating. Lister had read as much in Duane’s medical file he sneaked into, as he wouldn’t tell him much himself.

Lister remembered how difficult the very beginning at the rehab was. In a way, it made Lister feel better to distract himself by guiding someone else, it made him feel more stable. They started to introduce small rituals into their lives at the clinic. Lister played some guitar for him, taught him poker and other games, or they simply shared meals. When he was sure Duane wouldn’t stir trouble, Dave took him to his secret place - the basement. He sneaked a bowl of sour cream from the kitchen one evening and set it on the floor. As expected, within minutes, a black kitten came through a small window to check out the treat. Interestingly, she became as fond of the new occupant as she was of Lister and this little socialisation became one of their favourite rituals.

It was three weeks later that Dave Lister got his hope back. The two of them played Scrabble on the basement floor, Frankenstein the cat resting in Duane’s lap.

“Me dream’s always been to go to Fiji, hot weather and chill. I’d find a beautiful bird to live with, away from all this smeg, y’see? We’d just live, get sheep and cows and breed horses, maybe open a buffet.” Dave shared then.

“I think something simpler, like London. Get a job as an actor, or dancer, and get a lot of groupies begging me to sign their undergarments. I will grow my hair and wear sparkly suits and nobody will laugh at me because I will be too cool! That will show them.” Duane replied dreamily. Lister chuckled, reaching for a biscuit from the plate beside them.

“That doesn’t sound much simpler, man. But you do you, like, if that’s what ya want. You can do that.” He says encouragingly, swapping the letters in his row. “Though usually celebrities go to rehab after their career, not before.” He joked dryly.

“I played in a school musical, you know, Cats adaptation. One of the main roles.” Duane reminisced, absently petting Frankenstein. “Got my head shoved in the toilet at school and when I came home, my grandpa burnt my costume in the fireplace.” He said as if it meant nothing.

“Jesus, for real? Sorry, man.” He wasn’t sure what to say. He certainly wasn’t unfamiliar to adverse environment but he never quite had an abusive familial one. He never had much of a family environment whatsoever. And to be honest, he never really had peer problems at school either. “He sounds like a proper twat, no offense.” He added in sympathy.

Duane shrugged and said nothing more about it. He’d been dropping grim hints about his past from time to time, some of which Lister wasn’t sure he should believe, and moved on rather speedily. Lister guessed he was either desensitised or very repressed about them. He decided to switch back to a more positive topic.

“You know, London doesn’t sound so bad.” He said, carefully composing a new word on the Scrabble board. “Maybe you can get a new role. Promise I won’t burn yer costumes.” Lister smiled, feeling like maybe he will pull through after all.

* * *

_Present day_

Lister shifted in his bed. Consequently, a nearly empty beer can rolled off said bed and hit the thin worn out carpet, making a new addition to its collection of stains. The noise made Lister open his eyes and slowly stretch with a groan. Glancing at the clock on the wall, the Kiss with their tongues out stared at him from behind the hour hands which only signalled five minutes past noon. Lister found this clock on the street on a night out and thought it was hilarious at that time. Since then, he never bothered to take it down. Self-satisfied that he woke up this early, Lister got off the small bed to crack the window open and let some fresh air take away the stale smell of cigarettes. He took a moment to admire the view of London under the white sky. Well, not London per se, his room faced the opposing residential building with a closed down pub and a Polish grocery store in its base floor. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, he thought as he re-Blu-Tacked a falling poster which was covering a hole in the wall. But it was more than he ever hoped for.

Lister was about to venture to the bathroom across his room but was distracted by a persistent thumping noise from the kitchen/living room. Bunch of swear words ensued. Lister blindly reached for a pink dressing gown hanging on his door and wrapped it over his scantily clad body as he went to investigate. He found his flatmate banging his palm on the small TV sitting at the kitchen table. “Come on, work! I am _bored_ , and I need to watch Britain’s Got Talent tonight!”

“Cat, what're you yellin’ fo'?” Lister asked, putting the kettle on since he was already there.

“TV’s not working! Now that you’re out of your den, fix this! You’re good at this manual stuff. Besides, I just had my nails done,” he demanded. Lister rolled his eyes, picking up a stack of envelopes from the counter.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he said as he shuffled through them. “They probably switched it off, never paid the bill, man,” Lister announced, dropping them back on the counter.

“What?”

“Did you pay ‘em?” Lister raised eyebrows.

“Of course not!”

“Neither did I, there you go. Rent’s due in few days too.” He rubbed his forehead, willing away the mild hangover.

“What happened to your money? You didn’t spend it on something stupid?” Cat hit the old TV again, which caused the white noise to disappear and the screen shut off altogether.

“Cat!” Lister threw his arms up. “I lost me job few weeks ago, remember? What happened to _your_ money?”

“Hey, you think this all is for free?” He gestured towards his hair and outfit.

“Great.” Lister shook his head, pouring water on his teabag in a mug. “I have to get a job.”

* * *

After his cup of tea, shower, teeth brushing and dressing into something that didn’t reek of pub, Lister left the flat determinedly, shouting “You better also look for a gig!” He knew it would come to this but the situation was too scary, so he successfully ignored it as he always did. Things always worked out somehow. So, it would work out again today.

Lister was between jobs, but it became so periodical that ‘between jobs’ was practically his permanent job title. The same went for Cat. They were living the dream, they had fun, it just happened to also involve living from month to month with no guarantee. Thankfully, Lister had a good skillset served to him by anonymous genes and life being a bitch. It involved excellent interpersonal skills, technical dexterity, keeping cool under pressure, driving, stealing, competitive curry eating and knitting.

He could do this. Lister dusted some grime and earwax from his earphones before putting them in and hit play on his MP3 player. _Tonight, I’m gonna have myself a real good time._ Queen started playing loud into his ears as he continued down the stairs.

 _Don’t.stop.me.now._ He moved his head into the rhythm, feeling like nothing would indeed stop him. _Don’t stop me-_

“Hello, Dave.”

Nothing except for this. Lister screamed in surprise when he lifted his head and saw a young woman standing in the door. Nothing would stop him but her. For her, he would make the world stop spinning if he could. Lister tore the earbuds out of his ears and struggled to look casual.

“Hi there.”

Kristine Kochanki was the girl next door type. Literally – she was the girl that lived next door. And two floors down, anyway. But she was really the whole cliché fantasy package; beautiful, intelligent, fun and sexy. She was like Lister’s ideal curry – extremely hot and spicy. She was an educated woman from a good family, who harboured an unfair amount of skills and talents, and Lister hardly knew half of them. He was confident when it came to women, but all Kochanski had to do is smile and he forgot time, space and his own name. She was everyone’s type, which was why it’s been so hard to stand out.

“See, I was just wondering if you had any non-dairy milk at all. I’m in a bit of a rush and I don’t have time to go to the shop,” she said swayed playfully like she always did and Lister wondered if she did all that on purpose.

“Yeah,” he said immediately, before even checking. “I think, yeah, can’t get enough of it since you recommended it.” His gaze lingered at her for a few moments before she prompted.

“Yeah?”

“Right, sure, be right back.” He rushed back to his flat, leaving the door open, to bring the box of soya milk from his fridge and proceeded to open it and spill a little to make it look used. Still fresh, but used. Lister didn’t need to let her in on the fact he bought the drink every fortnight or so, just in case she came over one day asking for it. For the drink, that is. Surely enough, this time he was prepared. He rushed back to her door, presenting the drink ceremoniously.

“Dave, you’re a life-saver!” She giggled, taking the box.

“Oh, nah. Just glad to help. No need to thank me,” he joked, leaning on the wall. “That is, unless you’d like to grab a coffee, or something,” he threw in casually. Kristine meanwhile disappeared in her flat to pour the milk in her mug.

“I’m actually just making my own now before class,” she shouted back from the flat and Lister used the opportunity to peek in. He’d been in the flat a few times when Kris was away on vacation or back home, as she gave him the ultimate honour of allowing him to tend to her plants. He respected her privacy of course and he only viewed a few framed photos and making mental a note of things she liked to eat and decorate her flat with in the event of buying her a gift or dinner. To be honest, the flat didn’t quite fit in the building, it was too nice and he wasn’t totally sure why she didn’t rent one in a better district. Surely her parents would support her.

“Yeah, ‘course, makes sense, you’re a busy girl,” he said. “What’re you studying again?” he enquired, determined to make the most of their short encounters, get to know her.

“Media and communications. And where are you heading, Dave?” she asked, making Lister blush a little every time she said his name.

“I’m gonna look for a job, actually,” he replied humbly, playing with a little statue sitting on a cabinet by her door.

“Oh, good! Do you have a CV?” She glanced over at him and the absence of any bag on his person.

“Eh?”

“A resumé?” she said in that posh accent. “You know, the piece of paper with your education, skills and experience? You will need it if you want to get hired,” she elaborated in a playful voice, like she played along with Lister playing dumb – except Lister didn’t play anything.

“Ummm…”

“Tell you what, I still have a few minutes, I’ll review some notes for my presentation. Come on in, if you’d like, you can have a look at my CV and make your own quickly, print it off here,” she suggested and pulled out her laptop in which she opened a file. Then she proceeded to sit on her sofa with the coffee and a notepad.

“Really?? That’s boss, thanks, Krissie.” His eyes lit up and he took her up on it and sat to the laptop.

“Just make a copy and rewrite mine, it will save you time,” she suggested, highlighting some parts in her notes. Lister stared for a while at her elegant and yet leisure way of sitting, the strand of hair falling from behind her ear, her chewing on a pen before he finally snapped out of it. Ok, resume or whatever, education…skills…he read along in his head as he skimmed through it, deleting more than half because he was nowhere near having so much experience and education. Well, he had jobs, but short-term and meaningless. Unlike Kris, who was all about ‘volunteering’ and ‘placements’ and things like that. Frankly, he couldn’t think of much to write there, he usually just bummed about, having drinks with the guys and doing bare minimum to get by. No college, no career.

“So, what are me skills then?” he asked.

“I don’t know, do I? Think about what a manager wants to hear but be careful to be able to give an example if they ask for it. Think what you learned in school, at workplaces or even in your personal life. If you ever took care of someone, maybe you’re caring, independent, determined?” she suggested. Lister thought for a while.

“Not really.”

“Lie then. But do it smartly. And of course you are determined, look at you trying hard for a job. And even if that’s just an excuse to talk to me, that is even more determined!”

Lister was taken aback by that, stuttering his reply, but she just laughed.

Eventually, he managed to put together a somewhat decent looking CV, following Kochanski’s tips and just hit print as she declared it was time for her to go. He folded it in half and stuffed in his pocket, which she didn’t have the time or heart to comment on. He did his best.

They parted as she took the underground to her campus and Lister waved his goodbye, feeling all giddy and accomplished. Now just to hand those in a few places and then hopefully, he could _finally_ have a pint and feel good about himself.

He wouldn’t do this alone, of course. Job hunting was a bore and it hurt Lister to the core to go along with the capitalistic smeg. It was the promise of said beer that motivated his friend Petersen to join him.

Lister was high on the acknowledgement he got from Kochanski and told his mate all about it during their scavenging for Lister’s job.

“She invited me in! And the way she talked, I’m tellin’ ya, we will get that farm on Fiji-“

“Yeah, yeah, and breed horses with sheep, so you keep saying for the last year. Did you try asking her? Or you just plan on kidnapping her?”

“Petersen! This is a long operation man, I’m thinking about the big picture,” he assured his friend and himself. Upon that they walked into a pub almost instinctively and Petersen put on a show by hugging the cold tap at the bar.

“Civilisation! It’s been like years, I’m like a thirsty man in a desert. Fate brought you and me together, ah!” he cried on the tap of Tennents as the bartender firmly asked him to stop touching it to no avail.

“This is the first place we came to, man, we’re not finished.” Lister shook his head but a smile tugged at his lips. “He hasn’t had a beer since the mornin’,” he told the bartender and gave her a wink. He then proceeded to pull out the crumpled resume from his pocket and give it to her. “I’m lookin’ for a job, if you’re hiring by any chance?”

She had a quick look, raised her eyebrow and unconvincingly muttered something along the lines she will give it to the manager.

“Cheers, luv. Now c'mon, I need to apply to like one more place at least,” he said, dragging Petersen away from the tap.

“Come on, at least a quick game of snooker??” Petersen resisted. It took all of Dave’s willpower to say no to that and he wondered when he had become so responsible. Perhaps it’s the desperation. Petersen was also probably the worst possible companion to take on this quest but Lister didn’t exactly have a list of responsible friends.

He proceeded to apply to a chemist’s shop, which he already mentally decided he would probably decline even if he got it, and one more pub.

“Hey, see, even if you get a job, how d’ya wanna pay rent in two days?” Petersen asked, feeling like he just came up with his first brilliant thought of today.

“Dunno, haven’t thought so far ahead. Got any cash to lend me?”

“I’m skinned,” Petersen emphasised his point by turning his pockets inside out, causing a broken rolled cigarette to fall out. He discretely proceeded to pick it up and ask for a sellotape. Lister wondered how they even intended to buy that beer.

“Oi, what about the pub Chen got a job at? Probably can get us a freebie.” There goes the second and last brilliant Olaf Peterson thought of the day.

“Oh yeah.” Lister tilted his head, vaguely remembering their mate got a bar job. Chen could hook him up, maybe they would have another vacancy. Working in a pub alongside Chen and getting paid? That’s perfect! He wondered how he hasn’t thought of that before. “Genius, Petersen, that’s genius!” He lightened up, slapping his back and brought him in a half-hearted hug. “What’s this place?”

“It’s called Starbug.”

* * *

The place was somewhat fancier than Lister anticipated. Walking in, he noticed an industrial but clearly renovated interior. The place offered food, relatively wide range of drinks, and probably even occasional gigs judging by the small stage in the corner. Lister then noticed a couple of posters advertising upcoming stand-up comedy and a pub quiz. “Sweet,” he muttered. Meanwhile Petersen glued himself again to a bar stool in front of beer taps and stretched his neck to look for his mate. A woman with shoulder-length blond hair emerged from the kitchen instead, wearing a black t-shirt and an apron.

“Hiya lads, fancy some food menus?” she asked. Lister came closer to the bar, taking a seat next to his friend.

“Just a pint for me, please!” Petersen exclaimed.

“Wait, maybe check if Chen’s in first?” Lister turned to the bartender. “We’re looking for a mate of ours, Chen? Is he working by any chance?

“Oh yeah, he works in the kitchen. Hey, Chen, someone’s here to see you!” she shouted to the kitchen.

“What?” Calls a voice muted by the sizzling of pans.

“Some boys,” she clarified, quieter.

“Dave and Olaf,” Lister adds and she repeated the names. Momentarily, a curly haired young(ish) man exited the kitchen, dusting his hands in a dish towel.

“Heey! Dave, Olaf, what brings you to my new lair?” Irish accent was seeping from his words.

“Well, we wanted to check out your new ‘lair’. Also, I’m looking for a job,” Lister explained.

“And we were hoping you could lend us some money for a pint,” Olaf recapitulated.

“Huh.” The chef crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and scratched his hair. “You guys broke again, eh?” He laughed. “Yeah, maybe I can sort you out, I owe you for the other day, anyway.” Petersen cheered.

“Two pints of lager then?” The bartender, listening in the whole time, asked rhetorically and started pouring it.

“Can’t help you with the job, sorry, pal. And I have to watch my bacon, maybe we can go for a drink after my shift, ey?” Chen said, reaching over the bar to slap Lister’s arm in camaraderie. The pints were set in front of the two of them as Chen headed back to the kitchen, when he suddenly turned on his heel in the door. “Actually, there’s a store across the road, Selby works there. Isn’t that right, Hilly? The supermarket.”

“That’s right, your friend who comes here. Every day,” she said, not overly enthusiastic.

“Selby has a job?” said Lister rhetorically.

“And I thought he was the perceptive one,” Petersen joked, shaking head.

Hilly then interrupted this exchange. “You know what, I think they're actually hiring, Holly mentioned something,” She mused.

“Holly, huh? He’s not stopped pestering you yet?” Chen folded his arms again, chuckling. Hilly rolled her eyes and turned to Lister. “You should go ask, though. They’re always looking for someone, people keep quitting,” she advised, busying herself by wiping a glass.

“Sweet, thanks for the tip, Hilly, was it?” She nodded. “Why do they keep quitting?” he asked casually.

“That’s just how it goes in retail, innit? It’s a lot of students and part-timers,” she said and sighed before she continued, “there’s also this guy, leading shifts.”

“God, Rimmer!” resounds from the kitchen. “Not even my worst enemy, man, wouldn’t send them to that place.” He laughed, despite literally having sent Lister to that place. Lister glances at Petersen who'd finished two thirds of his pint by now, and then back at Hilly. “That bad?” he joked.

“You have no idea.” She rolled her eyes. “But don’t worry about it too much. If you ask for Holly, he’s the manager. He’s got a bit of a crush on me,” she mentioned with a mix of playfulness and annoyance. “Tell 'im I sent you.” She winked. Lister lightened up.

“Alright, that’s great, thanks!” He took a sip. “I mean, if Selby can handle the job, I’m sure it’s a piece of piss.” He elbowed Petersen who offered vague agreement.

“Other than that, they’re a good bunch. Oh, look, speak of the Devils!” Hilly smiled widely, waving to a man dressed in a uniform t-shirt peeking from under a jacket who just walked into the pub.

“Good day, miss Hilly!” he greeted joyfully. “I was just thinking if you had any spare receipt paper? Someone forgot to order more, again.” 

“Hi, Kryten! I wonder who _that_ was,” she said ironically. “We should do, lemme check.” She bent down to shuffle through the junk under the counter. “By the way, this is Dave. I was just telling him you might have a vacancy.”

“Hi.” Lister waved at the man. “I was thinking of applyin', if possible?”

“Why, yes, we are looking at the moment! I could take your resume if you have it, or maybe even have you see the manager, if he’s not busy.”

“Absolutely brutal! Petersen, you coming?” he asked.

“I think I’ll stay for one more, chat with Chen,” he announced. Not much surprise there.

“There you go!” Hilly presented two rolls of receipt paper. “But I will need them back soon.”

“Thank you very much, and don’t worry, I will be back tomorrow latest with some more!” He smiled. Lister decided he liked this guy. He was somewhat overly polite, but he seemed really laid-back and that’s what he was looking for in co-workers. He’d worked with some insufferably stuck up people and bosses and he didn’t need that. If it weren’t for that, he could have stayed in one job this whole time instead of dozen.

“Have a good shift, Kryten, see you soon!” Hilly waved, just as a new group of guests started pouring in the pub, about to keep her busy. They said their goodbyes and Lister followed Kryten to the place across the road.

“That’s Holly over there, let me just-“ Kryten pointed out when they walked in the store.

“KRYTEN!” Shouted someone in a nasal voice across the room. “Where the hell have you been?! We have a queue here, get back on the till right now!”

Kryten immediately tensed, calling back nervously “Right away, Rimmer, sir!” Lister raised an eyebrow, following Kryten’s gaze at the guy in the same uniform who indeed had a queue of several customers in front of him. Then it dawned on him, the name Hilly mentioned.

“See the man over there, scanning labels in the produce section? Bring him your resume, I have to get back to work. Good luck, Mr..” he trailed off.

“Lister. Just Dave.” Lister shrugged. “Thanks, by the way,” he added absently, heading where directed.


	2. Supervisor Smeghead

The process on Lister’s application was fast. He almost wouldn’t believe his luck when Holly from the store called him the next day and scheduled a job interview for the same day. Lister liked that, no bullshit. Holly was an older, easy-going bloke. He was somewhat slow and oblivious, which were not the best manager qualities but Lister had a feeling he had a kind heart and was a good laugh. Then there was Selby (allegedly) working there, who Lister would go as far as to call a friend besides a drinking buddy. Kryten seemed sound, too.

Lister considered borrowing one of Cat’s shirts but they were either riddled with gems and puffy parts or too conspicuous colours. He eventually decided to just be himself and wear a semi-decent t-shirt layered with one of his slightly worn-out shirts and a black jacket and trousers. They would want him for his individuality and experience, not for being pretentious, anyway. It’s not like he’s applying to be the district manager. Plus, judging by Holly’s tone, he would hire him just to get in Hilly’s good favours.

When Lister arrived at the shop, he didn’t recognise any of the employees on this morning shift. He took in the interior, imagining himself working there. It wasn’t a superstore like the one he had worked the carts in years ago, but it wasn’t small like your usual off-license. He would say small to medium size, probably requiring no more than 6 employees at a time in the busiest hour. Two on the tills, two to three on the shop floor and a manager doing his managery things in the office or something. Lister informed one of the passing part-timers about his interview. The girl was confused and unwilling but eventually led him to the staff area at the end of the store. “There” she said indifferently, pointing him to a small generic staff room. Love the spirit, he thought, dreading he will end up like this in one to three weeks. “Rimmer will be with you in a minute.”

“Okay.” Lister said, shrugging as he entered the room. “Wait, Rimmer?!” He turned around swiftly. The memory of Kryten almost shaking when being shouted at the other day made hair stand at the back of his neck like a cat who accidentally dipped its paw in a dirty dishwater in the sink. “Holly mentioned someone called Todhunter on the phone?” He added.

The employee shrugged. “He had a situation.” She said vaguely and didn’t stand around for Lister’s reply. So, Lister sat on the chair, propped his head on his hand and stared at the bowl of free employee fruit on the table.

“So!” Said someone loudly about two minutes later and the door was shut heavily and threateningly. Lister spat out his dreadlock he was chewing on and dropped his feet off the table. Rimmer, as Lister remembered him, entered the room, his uniform shirt meticulously tucked in his trousers. When he got down on Lister’s level, he also noticed a badge with the name ‘Arnold’ and two stars underneath it – whatever that meant. Probably a meaningless sign of recognition given by the company for employees to get a false sense of importance and appreciation.

“So.” Lister copied him in a less enthusiastic voice but still faked a smile. “You’re not Todhunter.” He voiced his observation once again. The not-Todhunter calmly placed a folder with the company logo on the table.

“And you are not Kristine Kochanski.” The employee countered.

“You wha’?” He sat up straight at that. Rimmer proceeded to ceremoniously raise Lister’s CV with big letter’s spelling Kochanski’s name at the top.

“Oh.” Lister chuckled humourlessly. “That’s a mistake.” He internally face-palmed himself for forgetting to change the most important part of Kochanski’s CV he used as a template.

“Clearly.” Rimmer said and then regrettably opened his mouth again with a crude joke. “Unless you have a pair hidden under the shirt.”

Lister gaped at him. Rimmer cleared his throat. Even for Lister, that seemed inappropriate – his gender was none of this guy’s business. Especially since that was Kochanski’s lovely cleavage he was talking about, technically. Lister would bet his guitar Rimmer was one of those bigoted authoritarian smegheads.

“We should probably start over.” Lister looked away and leaned back in his chair.

“Very well. My name is Arnold J. Rimmer, I will be interviewing you today. Frank happens to have other things to do and as I am the shift leader, I am more than qualified to substitute him in this interview.” He explained and Lister felt like he defended himself a little too much for no reason. Lister really didn’t care about their hierarchy, he just needed a job. He’d been through this a thousand times. “Care to tell me a little about yourself?” Rimmer continued, taking one of the pens lined up in his shirt pocket and wrote something on the CV. Lister wondered what – he hasn’t told him anything yet.

“Sure, uh, name’s Dave Lister..”

“Can you spell that?” Rimmer intervened.

Lister raised his eyebrows. "Dave like David, and Lister like Listerine without the -ine."

"How very helpful."

"That's why you're hiring me." He winked. 

“Go on, then.” He gesticulated for Lister to proceed.

“Well, I’ve worked in retail before, stocking and tills, pushin’ carts. I’m available pretty much anytime and right away.” He shrugged, not able to think of any more relevant information.

“O-kay.” said Rimmer with no distinguishable emotion, writing things down. He looked up, giving Lister a once-over, which made him feel uncomfortably scrutinised. “How long have you been in London, then?” He asked. Lister wasn’t sure what for. Was that an attempt at small talk?

“ ’bout four years, more or less.” He replied. Rimmer certainly picked up on his accent, seemed silly to fill him in on his Liverpudlian background.

“Alright. Why are you applying for this position, then?” Rimmer folded his forearms on the table, giving him an undivided attention. Lister shifted in his seat.

“Well, I…” He thought back to Kochanski advising him to construct his answers based on what managers want to hear. “I think I am good with people, y’know, I’m a people-person. Like I said, I’ve got experience in the area, I’m good under pressure.”

“That’s not what I asked, that’s item 4, I have to ask you not to skip back and forth with your answers.” Rimmer furrowed his eyebrows, pulling a few more pages from the folders and flipping one self-importantly. “That will be your character profile, or perhaps the ‘what can you offer us’ section.” The employee muttered to himself, making a few arrows and scratches on his document. “Why did you choose us when applying for a job?” He rephrased. Lister sighed.

“’twas recommended to me.” He said truthfully.

“By whom?”

“The bar across the road.”

“Getting you to answer questions is like pulling teeth, I’ll tell you that.” Rimmer said, making a note. Lister felt his patience and politeness slowly but surely running out.

“I just don’t see how this is relevant.” Lister muttered, sinking lower into his chair.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothin’.”

Rimmer regarded him for another moment. “Moving on then.” He said in a high pitch and flipped a page back, never breaking the eye contact. “Ah yes.” Rimmer said, picking up Lister’s CV again. “I wanted to address some inconsistencies in your work history. Or rather, the gaps between jobs and brief periods you stayed in them. Elaborate on this.” He ordered. Lister was now quite sure the guy had a thing for being in charge, and Lister hated those. He supressed an exaggerated sigh.He

“It’s just life. Things happen, y’know? Places close down, ya can’t see eye to eye with the boss, you get a better deal.” He said vaguely. It was mostly the truth, short of the incidents where Lister was fired for things that could be said were his fault. Which was about 9 out of 10.

“Thanks for casting some light on that.” Rimmer said sarcastically. “What about this large gap four years ago? Did they have no jobs in Liverpool? Or did you have better things to do?” He prodded. That struck a nerve. Lister straightened up, leaning his forearms on the table and leaned forward in his seat, making Rimmer instinctually retreat into his.

“I was practically a kid, aight? Sorry but how is this your business what I did four smegging years ago? For all ya know I was studying. Is there anythin’ actually useful I can tell you or are you just gonna sit on your high horse and avoid doin’ your actual job?” He cringed as soon as he finished saying that, leaning back slightly. Maybe let’s not provoke the man deciding whether you will be homeless next month, he thought.

Rimmer’s nostrils flared up as he wrote a few furious notes on his paper and then looked back at Lister determinedly. He spoke in a levelled voice.

“Thank you, that will be all.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

“You wha’ ?”

“I said you are done, miladdo. Thank you for your time.”

“No!” Lister half-shouted.

“No?” Rimmer repeated, hiding everything behind the calm and professional façade.

“You can’t do this. You haven’t asked all your smeggin’ questions.” He gestured at his paperwork. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

“I gave you plenty. We will be in touch.” Rimmer said in a practiced manner.

“Will ya hire me?” Lister pushed, not moving from his chair.

“We are going to review the applications-” Rimmer started.

“That’s a no, then.” He crossed his arms. “Look, I’m a good addition. Can I be a bit lazy? Yea, I mean, do I like to have a laugh at work and take it at me own pace? Sure. Have I been late or fired once or twice? Who the smeg hasn’t!”

“You’re not exactly selling yourself.” Rimmer crossed his arms.

“But!” Lister pointed his index finger. “I’m a delight to be served by. I get people an’ how things and business and sales work.” Said Lister with increasing speed and accent. “I may not be a _careerist_ and _opportunist_ and sure, I don’t always like to follow pointless rules and authorities.” He emphasised every smart word and regularly added finger quotes. “But I get the job done, man, I’m intuitive and personable, not a robot, and this small shithole could use an improvement, your employees are zombies and there’s no personality, like, it wouldn’t kill yeh to play some jams in the store or reshuffle products where folk can see ‘em, nobody’s gonna find these promotional ales ‘round the corner, I can tell you, okay, _Arnold?_ And frankly, yous are losing money and employees. You’re not one to talk to me about changin’ jobs with yer employee turnover, it wouldn’t surprise me if they left ‘cause they’re overseen by such an _insufferable_ smeghead.” He leaned back in his seat, exhaling. He would have dropped a mike had he held one. “ _Sir._ ” He added at last instead.

Rimmer sat still but looked like a pressure cooker about to explode. He was clutching his pen hard and Lister anticipated him to spit out either a very brief or extremely elaborate comeback as soon as he could find the words. Why on Earth couldn’t he just be interviewed by the Todhunter guy? Lister thought. But before Rimmer could begin to reply, the door opened and the man in question entered, sporting a badge with the name ‘Frank.’

“Hey, sorry I didn’t check in sooner, everything alright?” This time, Rimmer and Lister simultaneously stood up, the chairs screeching on the floor.

“Mr. Lister was just leaving.” Rimmer announced stubbornly, looking Lister in the eye.

“Yeah. This isn’t worth it.” Lister agreed, walking around the two employees and out of the door.

“Huh?” Todhunter looked at Lister and then back at Rimmer. “Did you finish, then? Can he do the shifts we need?” He asked, snatching the paperwork from Rimmer’s hands and looking over the half-filled-out mess. “What is this?” He waved it in the shift leader’s face. Rimmer started stuttering out a response. Lister slowed in his tracks, eavesdropping on the exchange as nobody actually closed the door to the staff room.

“Look, I let you do the interviews, but you refused what, four people already? They were perfectly alright, this isn’t the parliament, Rimmer, we need someone with two arms to stuff bananas in baskets and a mouth to greet a customer and send them on their merry way. What’s wrong with that lad? Full availability, plenty experience.” He skimmed through the papers. “What’s this? Unprofessional haircut, confusing vocabulary? This is discriminatory. You could be reported. You will apologise and tell him he’s got the position. Holly already said so, anyway.” He decided, shoving the documents back in Rimmer’s hands. “You better get a grip, Rimmer.”

Lister covered his mouth in order not to burst into laughter. The voices faded as he sneaked out of the area before they find him there and Rimmer gets the opportunity to give him a half-assed apology in front of Todhunter. No, he would wait for a phone call, he would make him work for this. In the end, this was the sweetest way the interview could go; walking out with a smile and a double guarantee on his job. 


	3. Job offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's reading and for your kudos. Also thanks to my friends for beta, who are nearly all straight men btw and I think it's sweet they indulge me and even enjoy this gay smeg :D  
> A bit shorter chapter today, will probably update the next one soon to really get the story started.  
> At last, apologies to Mr Selby for butchering his character and making him be a slightest bit responsible.

The uncomfortable matter of rent payment was still hanging above Lister, and today was the last day he could scramble up some cash or the landlord will have his and Cat’s head for breakfast. Lister’s means of earning some emergency money consisted of visiting a particular drinking pit that swarmed with gamblers every Saturday without fail, and challenge bunch of them for a game of pool. In order to play to a high standard, Lister first needed to invest into at least three pints of beer. At the very least, he hoped to pay the tab he’d made so far so that he didn’t get banned from the ‘best’ establishment to play pool in. In the best-case scenario, he walks out pocketing his share of rent and some extra cash to pay bills or at least buy bulk rice and about a kilo of bargain vindaloo sauce to get by for a few weeks. 

Nevertheless, here he was, gathering the gang for moral support and some laughs. Chen and Selby, nearly always joined at the hip, played some dumb drinking game (which Lister was secretly dying to join) at the adjacent table, while Petersen and he were in the middle of their third game against the local patrons. 

Comfortably tipsy from five pints of Tennents and forty big ones in the pocket, Lister stretched his arms above his head, hearing his spine and shoulders pop. He turned his hat around so the brim was at his neck, chalked the tip of the cue stick and leaned over the table with a concentration of someone who didn’t just down five beers in two hours. Another good thing about this pub was it was so low under the radar that lots of people still smoked inside despite it had been a few years since the smoking ban. Lister took one more drag of his current cigarette and stuck it in his ear for safekeeping. He aimed – and fired. The cue hit the ball fiercely, Lister pocketed two balls in one hit and thus ended the game. He and Petersen looked at each other in amazement, yelling out in celebration and high-fiving. “Dave Cinzano Bianco Lister is on fireeeee!” Petersen turned to Chen and Selby who caught up and yelled in return. 

Lister collected another tenner and plunged into a seat next to his mates, followed by Petersen. “So whatcha doin’?” He asked, taking a gulp of the flat beer. 

“Playing King’s cup” Selby replied, raising a bunch of cards to demonstrate. 

“Wow, that game has a lotta rules, didn’t think you had the brain cells to keep up with ‘em.” Lister joked and everyone laughed, even at their own expense. It was a standard: they lost about ten points of IQ after every pint on a night out, so the ladder for humour was really low at this point. Nevertheless, Lister decided it won’t hurt to have a short break from the pool. 

Selby was the next one to draw a card. “We’re whores, everyone takes off a piece of clothing, the last one loses!” He explains. Lister tosses his cap, Chen loses a tie (which he wore over his tank top), Selby kicked off a shoe and Petersen had to take a drink as it took him the longest to untangle himself from his t-shirt. The passing employee scolded him for doing so and he humbly put it on again. Everyone laughed. 

“Okay, my turn,” Chen drew a card. “Queen! All making a toast to the Queen!” He announced and everyone obeyed. 

“You Brits and your Queen obsession.” Olaf said, reluctantly gulping on his lager. “Mine is to Queen Margrethe of Denmark!” 

Selby put down his drink and watched Lister down his and clumsily clash it with the ashtray when putting it down. He leaned closer. “Hey, man, you sure you’re okay drinking this much? You don’t have to, y’know.” 

“Eh? I can hold me liquor, mate.” Lister defended himself, his speech slurring. 

“Unless you try to belch the national anthem and barf on the table like last time.” Chen added without glancing at them. 

“Shush, buddy.” Selby retorted at his friend over Lister. “I just mean, with your past and all, you should take it easy.” 

“Yeah, yea, thanks man, ‘preciate tha’. I’ll have a glass’o water.” Lister nudged him with his elbow and Selby patted his shoulder and nodded. 

“Draw the next card then, Cinzano.” Chen prompted and Lister reached for a card from the circle arranged around a pint of beer. He drew a Nine. 

“Right, is that rhymes?” Lister asked. 

“Oh, nah, we play improved rules, the classic is boring. Nine is we take someone’s phone and send a text from it!” Olaf explained. 

“Brutal.” Lister laughed. “So, who are we prankin’?” He asked with a wide smile. 

“You. As you drew the card.” Chen said seriously and then smiled mischievously. Lister’s smile disappeared.

“Right, what do we say to Kochanski, y’all?” He announced as Olaf took Lister’s phone sneakily. 

“ ‘ang on a minute! No smegging way, you divvy, that’s not happenin’!” He reached for his phone. 

“Come on, we’re doing you a favour!” They said just when the phone in question started buzzing. 

“Right, cut the smeg, guys.” He snatched the phone at last and accepted the call from an unsaved number. 

“Maybe it _is_ Kochanski. Don’t be a sissy, Dave!” 

Lister put his hand warningly in their direction to stop them from talking. “Hello?” 

“Um, good evening. Am I speaking to David Lister?” A smooth male voice asked. He just hoped it wasn’t the landlord but he sounded too young for that. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” He muttered as the boys started making kissing and moaning sounds to his phone. “Oh, smeg off!” Lister pushed Petersen away and took a few sips of water which Selby ordered. The collectively booed him. “Who’s this?” he said loudly into the phone to drown the noise. 

“This is Arnold Rimmer, is this a bad time?” He asked politely but irritation was clear in his voice. Lister cursed under his breath and stood up from the table, covering one ear to hear better. 

“Nah, it’s fine. What can I do for you, Mr. Rimmer?” He said sarcastically and grinned. He might be totally pissed but he would enjoy the apology from the smeghead he’d been waiting for. 

“Right, er, I’m calling about your interview.” He started. Lister hummed in acknowledgement. “Basically, I would like to offer you the position, if you’re still interested.” He gritted through his teeth. 

“Uh-uh.” Lister said, still smirking. “Anything else?” 

“Not…really. I am sending you an email with the details about your induction training.” 

“Hang on, so what about me apology, then?” Lister demanded, leaning on a wall in a quieter part of the establishment. 

“Do not worry about it, you are sufficiently qualified for this job so we can overlook your attitude issues.” Rimmer explained, being either smug or completely ignorant. 

“No, the apology you owe me, you total-“ He stopped himself. “For the unfair treatment during me interview, eh?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rimmer mumbled. “I suggest you lay off the alcohol as the induction is overmorrow morning. Alright, that was lovely, fine and dandy chat, congratulations on your job. Any questions? Okay, thanks, David. See you later!” And the low beeps signalled the end of the call. Lister looked at the screen disbelievingly. Un-smegging-believable, he thought. And what the _smeg_ does ‘overmorrow’ mean? 

When he came back to the table, Petersen seemed to have passed out in the corner while Chen and Selby were having what appeared to be a heart-to-heart. Lister took his hat off just to adjust his hair and wipe some sweat off his forehead before putting it on and heading back to the pool table for one or two more games. 

Two extraordinarily long games later, fuelled by a portion of chips and a pint of coke, Lister beat his final opponent who was about as smashed as he was, if not more. “Right, mate, beat you fair and square, Pay up.” Lister prompted before the guy left. 

“Never agreed to nothing like that.” He protested. 

“You wha’? That’s rich, man, we had a deal.” Lister walked around the table with the cue stick in his hand, too tired to have a whole civil discussion. Everything started to get on his nerves right now. 

“What’re you gonna do about it?” The heavy man walked towards him, looking increasingly taller, making it clear he would likely win in a fist fight. 

And he did. 

Lister got away relatively unharmed, thanks to his drunken pals coming to his rescue and mostly the bartender threatening to call the cops when the disagreement escalated into a 5-way shoving and beating. Lister scooped the Danish goo of a friend with the help of Chen and Selby. 

“C’mon, Petersen, let’s get outta here.” They all supported each other out of the pub and just as they were walking out the door, Petersen became sick. 

Lister left the pub with fifty pounds in his pocket, a black eye and vomit on his jacket.

  
  



	4. First shift

The so-called "induction" was a total and utter snoozefest. It was such an incredible bore that Lister thought he should add, "competitive passing out in a room full of white men talking softly" to his CV. The dude in a tie started with painfully fake welcomings and swiftly moved on to hum about sales, customer service and employee policies and benefits (at which Lister glanced up from the drawing he was creating on the table). After 3 hours that felt like 3 years, they were benevolently given a break for a cup of tea and mingle. Lister first thought they were finished and started to leave when someone informed him of his mistake. Lister smoothly pretended he only went out for a cigarette, which was actually a good idea, so he did. When he came back, he chugged three cups of free instant coffee in the break room and chatted with a young lad who must have been like 14 and excited about his first part-time job. Lister suddenly felt old. 

Snoozing or daydreaming through food hygiene and safe workplace practice, Lister paid a few minutes attention when they played them some examples of customer service on the television (not unlike the one they bring to class at school on a particularly lucky day to watch a history documentary). The short clips were so badly acted and overexaggerated that Lister snorted loudly a few times, and for reason he couldn't comprehend, no one else laughed. He sulked for about 10 minutes. 

Eventually, they set them free at around 4 o'clock. At the very least, Lister got a few freebies out of it - a pen, a lanyard, a keychain with the company logo, shit-ton of leaflets and handbooks, a uniform ("HERE TO HELP" across the back) and a badge with 'Dave' on it. Perhaps Lister could stir his tea with the pen on a better day, and hang himself on the lanyard on a worse day. 

* * *

Saturday finally rolled around, which meant Lister’s first shift in the store. Naturally, he was running late. He rushed into the store, his biker jacket and hat deterring some of the rain, but the rest of him was drenched. He made his way straight to the staff room. He viewed himself in the mirror as he shed his jacket and smelled the uniform t-shirt. It smelled like someone worked a double shift in it. He wasn’t sure if they recycled the uniforms or it was just him. He grabbed the paper tissues from the dispenser above the sink and wiped his armpits over the uniform, leaving some paper crumbs on it.

“You’re late,” said someone behind him. When Lister lifted his head, he caught the sight of no one else but Arnold Rimmer standing in the door smugly. He rolled his eyes so hard they might have done a 360. “Doesn’t reflect too well on you, does it? On your first shift,” he continued.

“Silly of me to think you wouldn’t notice, eh?” Lister turned around, trying to maintain certain professionalism.

“Where’s your badge?” Rimmer prodded further. Lister reached in his pocket, bringing his badge out ceremoniously. He wiped some tobacco off it and started pinning it on the left side of his t-shirt. He threw his arms out like a child seeking recognition when he managed to clumsily pin it, about an inch below his collar and visibly crooked. Rimmer shook his head disapprovingly and came closer.

“That won’t do. May I?” he asked but reached after Lister’s name tag before he could respond. Expertly unhooking it again, he proceeded to place it at the other side of the uniform and lower, at pocket-level. Fumbling with the pin for a few seconds, he pinned it perfectly straight. Lister watched him from below, assuming the guy never heard of anything such as personal space. He could have been about four inches taller, so Lister caught a sniff of a cheap aftershave. In fact, it was so strong it made Lister sneeze as soon as he moved away. Rimmer dodged the sneeze dramatically to avoid any germs. “Please, wash your hands.” Rimmer pointed to the sink, despite Lister didn’t even cover his mouth.

“Anyways, you can use locker number 3 for your belongings,” Rimmer started explaining. “It should be somewhat busy as it’s Saturday evening, which is an ideal fast-paced environment for productive learning. I will be supervising you, so you will direct your questions to me. If I am not available, ask Holly unless he’s having a secret evening kip, in that case, Selby will be sufficient.” Lister just hummed in response, throwing his jacket, cigarettes, phone and a wallet into the small rusty locker.

Thankfully, Rimmer didn’t comment on the black eye he’d gotten a few days ago, so either he knew it wasn’t any of his business or he didn’t notice. It was already healing, anyway. Cat offered to conceal it with his make-up the other day, but Lister said he’d rather get comments about getting into a fight than wearing make-up. Not that he judged Cat for what he did with his own face, it would be weird to see him _without_ make-up at this point, and other people already judged enough. It took years to help Cat be comfortable with who he was and anybody who made him feel bad for it had another thing coming. That thing was Lister’s fist.

“First three hours will be on the till, the rest stocking and face-up. Follow me,” Rimmer announced and led out of the staff room, through the stock room into the shop floor.

“What about me break?” Lister asked on the way out.

“That’s between tills and stocking, although seeing as you were 13 minutes late, we might need to only give you 7 minutes to manage everything on time,” said Rimmer, stopping by the door. “Your employee card should arrive by Tuesday, this is where you will clock in and out. Do this for your breaks as well. For now, I will write this in the system for you.”

Rimmer continued to comment on everything in excruciating detail. Lister would need to buy a can of Red Bull on his break just to be able to tune in on what he’s saying. He dreaded he might also need to adjust his sleeping schedule because the daily drinking binge into early morning hours truly left him tired and unfocused, especially when his shift began as soon as 5 pm.

They walked up to the till, where Rimmer finally let the young cashier go home – 20 minutes late, thanks to Lister. Rimmer entered a new cashier number to sign on and proceeded to show Lister every single button. He just nodded in acknowledgement, without being given a chance to put a word in. “I will now show you how it works in practice,” the shift leader said, finally starting to serve a customer he’d been ignoring for a few minutes. The lady threw her shopping on the basket space beside the till. “And good evening to you too,” Rimmer said chirpily with a wide insincere smile.

“I’ve worked with tills before, y’know,” Lister finally said, standing awkwardly behind Rimmer who rang the lady’s items one by one, and painstakingly putting them in a plastic bag.

“Don’t interrupt me, Lister,” Rimmer barked, smiling at the lady again. “He’s our new trainee,” he explained. The customer continued to frown.

“Now, will that be everything for you to-“ he started asking as the lady shoved a £20 note in his hand. “Alright, that’s £13.21. Would you like your receipt?” he asked brightly.

“No,” said the lady sourly and almost yanked the plastic bag from his arms.

“Very well. It’s just the older population usually want their receipts, from my experience. The elderly like to keep track of their expanses, isn’t that right?” Lister wasn’t sure if he was telling that to him or the customer.

“I’m 55, you polished wanker,” she said, turned around and started leaving. Rimmer furrowed his eyebrows and closed the till drawer with force. He quickly turned to Lister who immediately stopped giggling. “There is just no pleasing some customers, but it’s important to be patient and professional. Now, I will serve two more customers, observe closely and you can have your turn,” Rimmer instructed.

“Sure, whatever,” Lister shrugged and crossed his arms. Rimmer continued his repetitive routine of ‘would you like a bag/receipt’ and ‘have a nice evening,’ getting very little positive response from the customers. He also tried to comment on their shopping to initiate small talk but the teenage girl buying a box of tampons was not impressed.

“Where d’you get your small talk skills, man, the ‘hundred and one opening lines to get the conversation with strangers going’?” Lister asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement. Rimmer paused suspiciously before replying.

“Of course not,” he retorted. “Why don’t you show me how well _you_ can interact with customers and operating the till, then?” He stepped aside. Lister shrugged, standing at the till point just as a beardy man approached.

“Hey man, how’s it goin’?” he said casually, taking items out of the basket.

“Not bad, what about yourself?”

“Alright, y’know how it is, gotta earn living,” he said honestly, his hands flying over the scanner expertly and throwing it in the bag without anything breaking. “Those are nice tats, where d’you get ‘em done? Going for the full sleeve?” he observed.

“Oh yeah, pretty sweet, innit? There’s a studio in Camden, good prices. It’s called Wildfire, ask for Spanners if you want some neat colours.”

“Get outta town! I had one done there when I was completely ratted! The prices are unbelievable.” He laughed. “That’s £19.11, mate.”

Rimmer watched this whole exchange bitterly. He couldn’t believe it, Lister was a natural. He was fast, he kept a banter with the customer, he made no mistakes in the prices whatsoever, he even voided an item skilfully when he accidentally rang it twice. When the customer left, Lister turned to the supervisor smeghead with a smug grin on his face.

“Not so bad for a trainee, then?”

“You were quite lucky with your first customer, don’t expect all of it to go so easy,” Rimmer warned. But when more evening shoppers rolled in, Lister continued to charm one by one or simply completed the interactions casually with no friction.

“You could stop breathin’ on me neck now, won’t ya? I’ve got this,” Lister said when they had a moment of quiet.

“I suppose you’ve got the hang of the basics, yes,” Rimmer said with his hands importantly clasped behind his back. “I might go check how Selby is doing and help with the evening delivery,” he decided. “If there is anything you’re unsure of or there’s a problem-“

“I ring the bell over here and you come to me rescue, I know, so you said.” Lister balanced the mockery in his voice by innocently leaning on the counter and looking up at Rimmer. Just before Rimmer said anything, the sound of broken glass from a nearby alley caught their attention.

“Well then, I’ll go where I’m needed.” Rimmer cleared his throat, hovering for a couple of seconds before determinedly striding to the accident site. “Bring the yellow sign, bring the wet floor sign, pronto!” was the last fading thing Lister heard before Rimmer disappeared from his sight and he exhaled deeply. He was hoping for at least 10 peaceful, Rimmer-free minutes.

The next 90 minutes were mostly manageable. Lister only had to call for Rimmer a few times, but it seemed to give the man immense satisfaction to be useful. It was a bit sad, but Lister assumed it was in his best interest to keep him happy. Rimmer eventually let Lister go on his short break. He followed him all the way to the storage, in case Lister couldn’t remember the simple route. Just when they walked in, Holly was emerging from the office in a crumpled black turtleneck and bags under his eyes.

“Had a good nap, Holly?” Rimmer asked. His tone was polite and friendly which didn’t match the mockery of his words. Holly really didn’t register this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said slowly.

“Never mind. Lister is just about to have his break,” he said.

“Who?”

“Dave. Lister. Our new employee? You forced me to hire him, remember?” Lister watched this exchange with a smile tugging at his lips.

“Ohh, sure. Alright, Dave?” He gave him a wave and proceeded to the store floor.

Rimmer shook his head. “Early signs of dementia,” he noted. “Or perhaps not so early.”

“Give ‘im a break, man. He seems like a good guy,” Lister defended the manager. _At least he would give me some smegging space_ , he thought.

Rimmer followed him all the way to the staff room and put the kettle on. “Would you like a cup of tea, coffee?” he offered with uncharacteristic generosity. Lister retrieved his phone from the locker and slumped in a chair.

“Coffee sounds good,” he replied, sighing.

“Sugar?”

“Yea, honey?” Lister joked absently, without laugh or a glance at him, which Rimmer thought was extremely weird. Lister had this natural need to rebel against this man, as a revenge for how crazy he was driving him with his smegging micromanaging and arrogance.

“Do you want sugar in your coffee, you utter smegface?!” Rimmer said with the heaping spoon in his hand.

“Alright, just keep it professional there, team leader,” Lister raised his eyebrows, grinning. “Four,” he added.

Rimmer eyed the glass sugar container in his other arm, containing no more than five tablespoons, and simply overturned it above Lister’s cup. He stirred it and set it in front of Lister. “One diabetes coming right up.”

“Y’know,” Lister said calmly “eating too much sugar is not the cause of diabetes. It’s the excess of glucose in yer blood, the risk factors are obesity and lack of exercise. Read it in a magazine.” He looked up smugly. “On the second thought, I’m goin’ to have a fag.” The Scouser stood up again, retrieving his jacket and hat, and placed one pre-rolled cigarette in the hat.

“You’ve got four minutes, then back on your shift, miladdo!” was all Rimmer had time to shout before Lister disappeared.

The first drag of a cigarette is the best one. Lister indulged in a brief nicotine relief and with the cigarette lazily hanging between his lips, he looked up at the darkening sky. With October approaching, the sun had almost set and the air was chilly by this hour. Lister fixed his gaze at a group of people hanging out near the store, possibly homeless. They shared cheap beers and dried up tobacco, looking cold and unhappy. This combined with the autumn atmosphere, Lister felt a pang of anxiety. He let out a shaky breath, wrapping his leathers closer to his body.

It was like he suddenly found himself on well familiar streets of Liverpool. The same dread and despair enhanced by the sounds of loud drunk girls in skimpy clothing and the yelling of douchebags behind them. The smell of vomit and the feeling of heaviness, and experiencing it all sober. The desperate need to feel good again.

“Hey, Dave.” Someone put a hand on his trembling shoulder, causing him to flinch. “Rimmer says you need to go back.” It was Selby. Lister let out another breath which he felt like he was holding for minutes. He nodded absently. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Lister said quickly. He looked up at his mate. “It’s good to see you, man,” he said softly. It was comforting to see a familiar face and hear a familiar voice, even though he’d mostly only seen Selby with others on a night out. That was enough. He also had Cat, and Olaf, and Chen. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Lister briefly visited the staff room to put his things back and headed to the shop floor. Inevitably, he was intercepted by the ever-energetic shift leader. He only opened his mouth and Lister knew he wouldn’t like whatever would come out. He put his hand up.

“Can you take it easy on me, man, don’t feel the best right now,” Lister said.

“What do you mean? That’s probably the smoking, have you eaten at all? I knew a chap who only ever smoked on his breaks-“ he yet again started lecturing about something he clearly knew nothing about.

“It’s not the smegging smoking,” Lister interrupted him. “Just tell me where to start, I assume we’re doing the face-ups.”

Face-upping was a particularly useless retail routine. You had to do it for about two hours every single night, and the sole purpose was to bring all products forward in the shelves and make sure their front label is clearly visible. Lister did this in one of his previous albeit short retail experiences. At least in that case, it was a huge supermarket or night shifts, so he could just pop his earphones in and do things his own way. He wasn’t sure if he could handle Rimmer spit in his ear about making pointless work even more pointless until 10:30 pm.

Fortunately, when he realised Lister knew what he was doing, he gave him some space for about half an hour. Lister simply did the tedious work while getting lost in his thoughts, until someone started stirring drama by the main entrance. Lister peeked from around the corner, seeing two of the people from outside he’d noticed before. Selby was there, calmly trying to talk them down.

“What’s goin’ on?” Lister instinctively joined the scene.

“We were just asking for some change, or a beer, we know y’all got perfectly good stuff in your wasting room, burst multipacks and whatnot that only go to waste,” they explained. While they were certainly under influence of _something_ , they were not particularly rude or rowdy. And Lister got it. God knows he got it – there was indeed plenty of stuff which every single store hoarded for a stupid reason and then threw away. Just expired goods in perfectly good condition, one broken product in a multipack, or simply a torn label. But he also got the policies and the corporate mind. No, he knew them. He didn’t _get_ them.

“Look, here’s some change,” Lister fumbled in his pocket. He would have gladly offered them something from the store but he knew Rimmer would eat him alive. Speaking of…

“Move away, people!” said Rimmer loudly, coming heroically through the aisles. “We don’t want any junkies here, off you go, don’t disturb my colleagues, we’re on tight schedule here.” He gestured with his hands to send them away. That was Selby’s cue to leave and get back to his job, which he performed quite conscientiously by the way, to Lister’s dismay. Like a changed man once he’s not in the pub.

“That was a bit harsh, don’t ya think?” Lister crossed his arms but spoke softly.

“They don’t listen to reason, Lister, trust me. You have to learn to deal with individuals like that.” He stood there, self-satisfied to make the couple leave.

“They’re people too, y’know? You’d be surprised what a bit of compassion does.” Lister shook his head, walking around Rimmer to finish the job and be done with it. He was genuinely itching to drink himself stupid and pass out in his comfortable, warm bed. Safe and untroubled.

“What would you know?” Rimmer called after him bitterly.

“More than you would, smeghead,” he muttered.


	5. Getting Quizzical

Lister sat at the kitchen table, a stack of cards in one hand and a rollie in the other. A piece of ash was close to dropping on the table, which he currently paid no attention to.

“I don’t know what’s up his arse, Cat, he’s so annoying and uptight,” Lister continued his colourful narration of his first weekend at work.

“He sounds like the kind of guy who wears sock suspenders and hangs his briefs on coat hangers.” Cat made a face without looking up from his cards. He sat across him in some kind of hair revival mask wrapped in a plastic bag, wearing a pink bathrobe that was probably his to begin with. Lister was genuinely surprised Cat didn’t bother to burn it after he borrowed it.

Lister grinned. “And he’s _so_ bad with customers, it’s like he never had an interaction with a human being before, like he was created in some alien vacuum egg and tried to pretend he’s human ever since.”

Cat just hummed, setting a card down. “Bang!”

Lister followed up with an ‘Avoid’ card. “He came up with these ‘bi-monthly’ staff nights out.” Lister gesticulated. “At first I thought he meant nights out for bisexuals and thought he was a bit presumptuous.” Cat raised an eyebrow. “But it’s just his fancy way of sayin’ every two months. And it so happens to be next Friday.”

“You’re really dumb sometimes, bud,” Cat said, drawing a card.

“Says a guy who thought carpal tunnel is the tunnel between France and England. Anyway, at least the pay is okay. Especially in three weeks when me pay rises,” he mused.

“Already?! Why, are you offering some exclusive extra services?” Cat finally looked up from under his reading glasses. He only wore them for very few occasions: board games, reading (usually magazines or instructions to beauty appliances) or sometimes computer, which they currently didn’t own after Lister spilled curry in it. When Cat got his first prescription, it was a relief for his eyes, but he would not wear them for months out of pure shame, not after he finally improved his visage. He started wearing them scarcely on his own when absolutely necessary, and when he found about certain fashionable models, he allowed himself to wear them in front of Lister on previously mentioned happenings.

Lister sighed. “No, it’s me birthday then. The paygrade goes up when ya hit 24,” he said matter-of-factly, not surprised Cat wouldn’t remember his birthday – he never does. Fair enough, though, it’s not like he even knew his own birthday, he just assigned the day with the help of a kind social worker who made it official.

“It’s your birthday soon, gerbil cheeks?! You never told me. We should throw a party!” Cat said, setting another card in the middle.

“Must have forgotten.” Lister smiled patiently, knowing he tells Cat many times every year. He had a bit of an issue with focus and memory. Perhaps ever since he recovered from the abuse of ADHD meds, or since he got so amazingly obsessed with himself. That seemed to start taking up a major part of his cognitive capacity. Lister didn’t blame him; firstly, he didn’t claim he had many more dimensions than that himself, and secondly, he understood coping mechanisms, and everyone had their own. Cat was not an alcoholic, nor a tobacco addict, which was impressive, seeing what he’d been through. Instead, he immersed himself in the beauty he discovered in himself, making himself as stunningly good-looking and fashionable as he could. While that was an expensive coping mechanism, it was likely comparable to Lister’s own unhealthy habits. At least it gave Cat some benefits, he had tried to use his vanity to earn money too, and he succeeded a few times. While not frequently and regularly, Cat managed to get quite good sums of money from photoshoots and whatnot. Of course, most of their survival could be attributed to Cat’s inheritance, which even allowed them to move over to London in the first place. Lister owed him big time, but it was Lister who helped him get back on his feet, so in a way, they always owe each other for one thing or another. Or, effectively, not at all. The friendship was not as transactional as Cat would make it sound.

“Hey,” Lister mused out loud, his gaze fixed on the middle stack of cards, “speaking of ‘special services’ and all that, how did yeh get your part of rent? I don’t remember you working.”

That seemed to take Cat aback, he perched his reading glasses at the top of his head.

“Hey! What’re you implying here? I’m classy. I have my ways,” which were two statements contradicting each other slightly, in this context.

“Cat,” Lister said in a sympathetic voice, “you’re not getting in any kind of sketchy business?”

Cat threw his cards on the table and stood up immediately. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, dog-breath, but- but the way I earn _my_ money-” he trailed off, pointing a finger at him. Lister raised his hands in defence.

“Look man, I’m just looking out for you.”

“You’d be surprised how much these losers are willing to pay for photos of this,” Cat gestured on himself, “fully dressed!” he added.

“Cat, I know you did porn before.” Lister grinned.

“Independent erotica!” he shouted.

“As long as you’re safe with whatever you’re doing, guy.”

“This superstar can take care of himself, thanks very much,” Cat muttered, rewrapping his dressing gown as he started leaving. Lister chuckled, lighting his cigarette.

“I don’t doubt it,” he muttered around his cigarette. He really didn’t, Cat was more resilient than he looked. And he was incredibly resourceful. Whatever fetishists he was catering online, he knew how to take care of himself. Well, hopefully.

Lister took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled quickly to shout after his flatmate, “party sounds good, by the way, I’ll tell the guys!” He pushed himself off the floor with his chair to swing on the back legs, “independent erotica,” he muttered to himself and chuckled, continuing his smoke.

* * *

Lister learned the job was not _as_ bad when he manages to dodge Rimmer. After his first shift, he landed a few under Todhunter’s supervision. While he was also rather hard-working and saw to it that the job got done, he actually made sense. His leadership style was logical and empathetic. He had all the good qualities, really. One of which was not being the biggest fan of Rimmer. They seemed to dislike each other, but while Frank Todhunter was a professional and didn’t pay any more attention to Rimmer than he had to, Rimmer seemed to have an active disdain for him, most certainly fuelled by jealousy.

Lister didn’t usually have the same shifts as Kryten as he tended to be on the evenings and Kryten did early mornings. Which was a shame because he figured Kryten was an absolute delight to work with. It was about fifty/fifty that his shifts overlapped with Holly’s and Rimmer’s as their times varied. On the shifts Lister had worked with Rimmer for the past two weeks, they mostly kept from each other’s sights as Rimmer was ruining people’s days at the till, while Lister was absently filling the shelves or chatting with Selby. Sometimes they would pull a practical joke on Rimmer like putting a set of googly eyes on every single can in the shelf and those made the shifts worth it. Except the more he fooled around, the more insufferable Rimmer became.

Lister decided to come to the ‘staff night out’ on Friday for the following reasons: a) the company paid for their expanses (to a certain limit) = free booze, b) it takes place at _Starbug_ – the bar across the road which hosts a pub quiz that evening, and Chen is on shift, and d) Lister was curious to see Rimmer drunk.

Lister was finishing his cigarette in front of _Starbug_ as he peeked through the window of the bar. He flinched in surprise when he noticed Rimmer sitting in the booth by the very window. Lister gave him a small wave and a crooked smile. He noted his boss was the only one sitting there. Stubbing out his cigarette on the ground, Rimmer gave him a stern look due to Lister’s littering (he assumed) and Lister contemplated having another one just not to go in and have to talk to Rimmer alone. Then he decided it would be even more awkward to keep standing outside or go stand across the road, so he sighed and headed for the door. 

"Never thought I'd be the kind of guy to be early," he said as an opening line, chucking his jacket on the seat before taking a seat, safe one foot away from Rimmer. 

"Fashionably early," Rimmer remarked. 

"No such thing," Lister said immediately. 

"Besides, you're not early, everyone else is just late," the shift leader proclaimed, rolling the sleeve of his shirt up to glance at his watches. 

Lister sighed, leaning back comfortably and took his hat off. "I wonder why," he muttered to himself. 

He glanced at the space in front of Rimmer, seeing Rimmer's cheap and practical mobile phone, two sharpened pencils and a tall glass of transparent, sparkling drink with a lemon wedge - all lined up neatly. 

"Good evening, good to see you again, Dave.” Hilly sailed to their table soon with an order pad in hand. “Arnold mentioned you got the job in the store after all, congratulations!"

"That's right, thanks." Lister was a bit confused at how this was a big deal but smiled. It was just a customer service assistant job, it's not like he was pregnant. 

"What can I get you, then?"

“Just a Budlight,” Lister said. He did sometimes pretend to be more refined about beers but who was he kidding, really? He would go for the cheapest. He couldn’t afford to drink the proper strong stuff now, not just financially. Selby was right, his drinking was a dangerous slippery slope sometimes. So, he watched it once in a while, as much as he hated to.

“More sparkling water, Arn?” she asked the man beside him. Rimmer refused more forcefully than necessary. Perhaps angry at being outed as a loser drinking water and not gin and tonic or something. 

"So," Lister checked his phone for messages and then set it down on the table. "You know each other well 'round here?" he asked conversationally. 

"Indeed, the staff comes here from time to time, it's the' go-to' place, as they say. Not me so much anymore," Rimmer said matter-of-factly. 

"Why not?" Lister swapped the phone for his zippo lighter with an Apollo motive to fidget with instead. Rimmer was quiet for a moment, and then as if on cue, a few people from the store entered the establishment. 

Holly, Kryten and Todhunter walked towards their booth, each sitting down in a wildly different manner; Kryten sat next to Lister in awkwardly polite manner not to topple anything down or sit on his jacket, Todhunter sat down beside Rimmer in similarly elegant and tame way Rimmer does, except way more casually, and Holly slowly sank on the seat next to Kryten because his back ached. 

“Where’s Selby?” Lister wondered. He assumed they came together as their shift just ended. He must be allocated to the evening shift.

“Some people have to mind the store, Lister. We can’t just shut it whenever we feel like as if we’re butcher’s in St Bees when there’s local wedding,” Rimmer lectured.

“You what? That’s so weaselly of you, Rimmer, seriously. You’re okay with tha’?” Lister leaned over Rimmer’s part of the table, making him withdraw further into his seat and wrinkle his nose when Lister's dreads hovered dangerously close above his drink. 

Todhunter shrugged. “It’s hard to combine schedule with the part-timers. They usually go out on their own, they don’t really fancy going out with the senior staff.”

“Oi! That’s ageism,” Holly spoke up from the corner.

“I believe he is referring to the staff on managing positions or who have been with the company for longer,” Kryten clarified to the manager.

“Oh, that’s alright then.” Holly nodded.

“It’s a few beers, not corporate meeting, you guys,” Lister frowned. 

Hilly was back momentarily to take the rest of the orders. "Oh, hi, Hol."

"Hi, Hil," Holly replied awkwardly as he noticed the bartender by his side. They lingered for a moment before she waved at the other ones, nearly dropping her tray, and moved on. 

“Ehm, they haven’t ordered, Hilly,” Rimmer pointed out to her.

“Oh right,” she chuckled as she turned on her heel and actually took their orders.

"Hol, why don't yeh ask her out?" Lister leaned towards Holly cheekily when she was gone again.

"D'you think I should? I'm a bit old for her, I reckon."

"You're not that old," said Lister at the same time with Rimmer who said: "you're definitely too old for her." 

* * *

About half an hour later, everyone had their drinks, and one sheet of paper per team for quiz answers – which Rimmer insisted to be in charge of. They had argued for good 15 minutes about the name of their group, especially as the best name wins a free round. They’ve actually come up with some pretty good names but Rimmer made a scene and they ended up being forced to use his suggestion ‘Aortas’ which was a short for Army Of Rimmer’s Retail Troopers and Shopkeepers. Kryten tried to point out that if he was referring to the main artery in human body in plural, the correct term was ‘aortae’ but Rimmer threw a pencil at him in response. 

“Alright, let’s start with the first round of 10 questions,” announced the quizmaster through the speakers. Rimmer compulsively sharpened his other pencil. “First category is music! And here goes the first question…”

“Oh, easy one to start with,” Rimmer said smugly and Lister shushed him to hear the question. The place was already loud as it was.

“Which American singer had 1991 chart hits with ‘Crazy For You’ and ‘Rescue Me’?” they had asked. Rimmer thought briefly and then exclaimed the answer before anyone could respond.

“Britney Spears.” He started writing it down on his answer sheet.

“I’m not sure that’s right,” Lister furrowed his brows. Todhunter nodded.

“He is not. It was Madonna,” Kryten said proudly. “My fiancée and I danced to ‘Crazy for you’ at a disco at Parrot’s, it was the night that-“

“Rubbish, Kryten, nobody should trust the memory of a love-stricken fool who was most likely inebriated beyond reason on that night,” Rimmer dismissed him and before anyone could argue further, the quizmaster moved on to another question.

The rest of the first round happened in a similar manner. Rimmer’s dominant personality drowned everyone’s opinion as well as the fun of the evening. Lister tried to snatch the answer sheet from him several times which reflected on the sorry state of the paper at the end of the round. Lister hadn’t even cared about the quiz until Rimmer made it personal and he wanted to win just out of spite. That, and they announced they would win £100.

“You’re such a bad leader, Rimmer!” Lister yelled when they had a small break. “No wonder you’re so bad at your job, you don’t guide people, you’re just a dictator!”

“Dictators got the job done, Lister, so thank you for the compliment!” Rimmer hissed.

“Please, gentlemen, it’s just a game,” Kryten intervened gently. Todhunter just drank his ale and regretted sacrificing his night off.

As it was between rounds, the staff went around to ask about more drink orders. A woman Lister hadn’t seen before approached their table and took their order.

“I will have a glass of Brandy, please. The drink of the Napoleon, since I am apparently the dictator,” Rimmer proclaimed. Lister shook his head.

“Are you sure, Arnold?” she asked.

“Have you ever seen me back out of my decision?!”

“Yes,” Kryten and the waitress both said simultaneously and then smiled at each other.

“Alright, that’s brandy for him, more beer for you guys?” she checked with Lister and Todhunter. “Belhaven Best for Holly and Aperol Spritz for Krytie,” she said and to Lister’s shock, she leaned over the table and placed a quick kiss on Kryten’s cheek.

“Kryten?? Thought you said you had a fiancée, you heartbreaker!” he loud-whispered when she left the table.

“Lister, catch up, you’re slower than American tourist walking back to a hotel from the nearest fast-food chain,” Rimmer rolled his eyes.

“Ah, Camille _is_ my fiancée. Apologies, I can see how that can be confusing,” Kryten explained with a smile.

“Get outta town, that’s cool, Krytes!”

“Yes, nothing more romantic and unusual than a working-class heteronormative couple employed in customer service across from each other for the rest of their lives to afford the mortgage,” Rimmer commented sceptically.

“Don’t be fake, Rimmer, you’d be lucky to have a relationship like them, it sounds like jealousy to me,” Todhunter said casually, making Lister smile from ear to ear. It was simply heavenly music to his ears to hear Todhunter burn Rimmer to the ground like this. “Besides, don’t worry, they give mortgages to same-sex couples, it’s 2010 for Christ’s sake,” he added, and Lister was in stitches by now, laughing loudly. Rimmer turned redder than a tomato and vigorously denied the accusations.

* * *

When they read out the answers, it was proven, unsurprisingly, that all the answers Rimmer insisted on were incorrect. That is, until the ‘history’ round.

“Which ancient King..” the quizmaster started, trying really hard to make it sound exciting, “was born in 356 BC and rode a horse named Bucephalus?”

“I know this one, I really do, trust me!” Rimmer insisted. “Just let me have one last answer!”

“ _No_!” they shouted collectively. Lister was in charge of the answer sheet now. He couldn’t possible care less about history, but he sure as hell wouldn’t let Rimmer write his answer in this time.

“Just write something in, Lister,” Todhunter prompted. Kryten was currently at the bar talking to Camille. Shame really, he tended to get most of the answers right, despite Rimmer wouldn’t let him write them down.

“Holly, you know this one?” Lister consulted the oldest member of the team.

“Sounds like it could be…” he thought for a long time and they waited patiently. Except Rimmer, who was sizzling.

“Ceasar?” Lister suggested. Rimmer nearly started to cry.

“That sounds right, Dave. Pretty sure it was Ceasar,” Holly shrugged.

“No, no, it was Alexander the Great, you gimboids! Ceasar is not even a king!” Rimmer cried.

“Go take a breather, Rimmer, or I swear to God-!”

“Can you two sit at the other sides of the table?! You act exactly like my pre-schooler sons, you two are impossible!” Todhunter shouted and then got up to take a breather himself. To be honest, he never came back.

Coincidentally, it turned out Rimmer was right with nearly all the history questions they never let him put down on the paper. The Aortas came last in the quiz with the incredibly low score of 3 points.

* * *

“Well, that was unproductive,” Rimmer announced after the quiz as they were finishing their last drinks.

“No offense, but if you just let us-“ Kryten started.

“Yes, yes, Kryten, let’s not look to place the blame, it was a team effort!”

After Todhunter left and Lister went to see Chen at the kitchen, all that remained was a sad view of Holly, Kryten and Rimmer sitting at the booth with absolutely nothing in common. They were almost about to leave separately when Lister came back with Chen, who was just finishing his kitchen shift. Rimmer vaguely realised how the group became alive again and resented how Lister essentially became the glue keeping them together. People of entirely different ages and personalities.

They all walked out into the streets, noticing how it went dark like a flick of the switch. Lister wrapped himself in all his leather fashion, lighted up his long-awaited cigarette and sighed dreamily. “Krytes, you’re coming or waiting for Camille?” he asked.

“She will be a few more hours, I am going home to make dinner first.”

“Can’t believe you called them heteronormative,” Lister muttered at Rimmer and then turned back to Kryten. “No offense, Krytes.”

“None taken. It’s true, Camille is indeed the breadwinner,” he explained humbly as they started walking. “My car is just this way, would you like a lift home?”

“Sure, if you’re going our way, thanks, man! Want one?” Lister offered a cigarette but Kryten refused. Chen bummed it, though.

They all set off in the same general direction, with Rimmer slightly behind them. In a little while, he started to feel ignored, and wasn’t entirely sure if they knew he was coming with them. He observed for a while. Lister was tipsy and in really good spirits after the event. Better than Rimmer ever saw him when he was at work – or any other employees he worked with, in all honesty.

Lister wrapped his arm around Chen’s shoulders as they went, and the chef didn’t seem to mind. Lister was talking about something passionately and Rimmer didn’t really focus on deciphering the Scouse chatter. He had to admit it had almost a melodic ring to it just now when all he said weren’t insults on his person. He never liked accents of that sort, not him who was from a good family where tutors come to your home and teach you proper grammar and pronunciation. But this accent, it somehow fitted Lister, like perfectly fitting shoes. Rimmer could certainly appreciate well-fitting footwear.

It was bewildering to watch the scene. Lister was turning his head to Chen, smiling and talking really close to his face. It was all so typical drunk male camaraderie, not something Rimmer hadn’t seen before but also something he never understood. You’d almost think they were a couple, but he also learned it’s about the most heterosexual thing men do. He thought his relationship with women was complicated and impossible but in fact, he was just as lost with men. He couldn’t quite fit in with his brothers, at school, or even at workplace. Lister made it look so easy. If he tried to bring his arm around someone, they would shake him off faster than a mosquito. And what was that joke of his, about heteronormativity? People say it all the time these days, but he shouldn’t ever try to say something like that, he thought. It always backfires horribly.

Rimmer felt a hazy feeling of anxiety close in on him, just like the cool evening air. It made him feel lonely. At the same time, he felt a pinch of pride when he watched Lister carefreely interact with Kryten and Holly, because it was _him_ putting all the effort in organising these team-building events. Perhaps he focused too much on bringing others together that he kept his own distance. At the end of the day, that’s where he was most comfortable. If he’s already out, he can’t be thrown out.

With that thought, he decided nobody would even notice if he parted from them and went home. That was a truly depressing thought that ultimately brought him peace. He stopped in his tracks and nobody turned around. So, he shrugged and turned to another street to catch his bus.

Nobody would notice if he were gone.


	6. Everyone loves you

Lister entered the staff room, proud of himself to be early for the first time yet. "Hey, Selb, watcha doin'?" he asked its only occupant who held an object unfamiliar to Lister and he had assumed to Selby as well.

"Revising for my exam," said the friend immersed in a thick, pictureless book.

"What fo’? Is Rimmer organising exams on correct wiping and handwashing techniques after staff leaves the bog?"

"No, that’s next month. I've decided to go back and take my A-Levels. Can't just drink through my thirties, Dave."

"Eh? Seriously? You've changed, man. But good for you. Never too late and all that," he shrugged, placing his jacket in the locker.

"The history is a bore though, doesn’t go into my head."

"History? Why’re you taking that smeg? You're not very good at reading for a prolonged period of time. Unless it's a list of craft beers, that is,” Lister joked, fumbling with his name badge (he did not, in fact, take it off to wash his uniform, but he does like to wear it slightly askew to piss Rimmer off).

“I want to do major in politics, it’s useful. You know, laugh, laugh, but when you drink yourself to death in the corner of this smelly staff room, I'll have an actual job.”

"Yeah, right." Lister shut the locker door and came over to his friend. "You’re still coming to me party next week to get utterly smashed though, right?"

"Obviously, I haven’t gone completely mad!" Selby laughed and Lister slapped his shoulder.

"That's my mate, right here!"

Lister was just lifting the staff kettle to make a cup of coffee when Rimmer stormed energetically into the room and slammed the door. "Good evening, gentlemen. It's time for a pre-shift meeting!" he said importantly with notepad in hand. 

"A what now?" Lister was ignored. 

"I hope you are all feeling closer after last week's little outing. You might have noticed we are very short staffed lately, which is why we have to see Lister's face every day, for example." He gestured towards Lister who watched him disbelievingly, pressing the button on the kettle. He still had 5 minutes till the start of his shift and he intended to use them freely and fully. No dictator was gonna come there and take that away from him. 

"So, I expect you to work to the best of your abilities and get the work done lickety-split. We have 6 cages with delivery coming tonight. Selby, you are working the bakery, household and produce today. I am-

The increasingly distracting sound of the kettle boiling interrupted Rimmer's speech. "Lister, do you mind?" 

"I need me coffee if you want me to work to my ‘best ability’, sir!" Lister saluted in mockery. 

"Ah, okay, just dandy." He raised his voice to overpower the whirring of the kettle. "Let's all just wait until Lister makes his cup of coffee, shall we?!" His voice ended two octaves higher. 

Lister patiently stood by his kettle as the boiling of it remained the only sound in the room. He viewed his nails. Then, finally, the whirring and humming ceased, and a victorious click ended the process. Lister poured his coffee. He mixed in some milk, added sugar, stirred, and finally took a sip, his eyes never leaving Rimmer's. Then he exhaled contently. 

"Don't let me stop ya," he added. Rimmer's nostrils flared ever so slightly. 

"Oh my god, just get a room," Selby muttered in the background, splayed in his chair and texting on his phone. 

"The shelves in the dairy section need cleaning from multiple spillages. _Lister_ will get on that and then he will proceed with the chilled and frozen delivery," he said matter-of-factly.

"You've gotta be kiddin' me!" Lister protested. 

"You may borrow the protective gloves when working the frozen.”

“You mean the smelly old gloves on the floor in storage?”

“Finally,” Rimmer ignored him, “I will mind the tills while working the liquor and tobacco delivery." 

"You know that's my favourite!" Lister raised his voice, gestured and consequently spilled some of his coffee on the floor. 

"Will you shut up and let me talk for one minute, Lister?!" Rimmer yelled so loud customers could probably hear it on the shop floor. Lister gazed at him with a stunned expression. Selby sank deeper in his chair and wished he also called in sick today. He did not want to be in the middle of this. 

"Right, I thought so." Rimmer adjusted his collar. "On to more pleasant news. I am delighted to announce the employee of the month." Rimmer browsed his folders to pull out a sheet of paper. "This month, three months running, the employee of the month is nobody else than.. Me!" he acted surprised and proceeded to pin the printed page with his portrait to the notice board. "Really, it's not so difficult to give your job a 100%, is it now? I did intend to give this acclaim to Daisy, had she not run away to Ukraine with her criminal boyfriend. Nevertheless.." 

Lister slowly approached the table where Selby sat. "Is he alright? Is this a joke?" he asked, and his friend shook his head emphatically, like a child. 

"Alright dudes, sorry I'm late." Holly suddenly emerged, taking his coat off. "Thought it was Sunday." 

"You work on Sunday too," Rimmer pointed out unenthusiastically to Holly. 

" 'ang on, why are you apologising to 'im, you're the manager, Hol," Lister said, pointing his finger at Holly who stared back for a while. 

"Well, I don't know, really." 

"Anyway," Rimmer said, "kindly go clock in now, meeting adjourned!" 

"I will go check the promo end then, shall I? See if I can take down something that doesn't look right," Holly suggested. 

"Marvellous idea, Holly." Rimmer shook his head and left after the others. 

* * *

Lister had been filling up the fresh milk section for the last 20 minutes but frankly every ten minutes felt like an hour today. He was getting cold by these fridges and he didn’t take his company-issue fleece with him. Selby had offered to lend him his plain sweatshirt which was even in the same blue colour as the uniforms, but the minute Rimmer saw it, he explicitly forbade it with a good five minute speech on why they wear designated uniforms.

“By the way, Lister,” Rimmer said as he walked around, circling Lister like a wild feline preparing to attack its prey.

“What now, Rimmer?” Lister sighed and stopped the stocking to give his superior an undivided attention as this might as well take another twenty minutes. Rimmer viewed the work in the fridge: 4 immaculate shelves of perfectly aligned and colour-coordinated milk bottles. Rimmer hummed in satisfaction.

“I was just wondering whether you’re employing the FIFO method.”

“Yeah, Rimmer, I’m putting the oldest milk in the front and the newest at the back,” he explained triumphantly. Rimmer scanned the dates in the fridge with scrutiny.

“Well done. You might even make the next employee of the month- uh-oh, what’s this here?” Rimmer reached into the fridge and pushed a few bottles aside to reach for a single one which had an older date than the ones before it. “What do you call this?”

“I call it ‘that’s the only one in the row ‘cause it doesn’t fit the rows before it, honestly, give it a rest, man! It’s perfect, I’ve never seen anythin’ so smegging neat, is there any way to ever please ya?!” He tried to keep his calm but he had goosebumps on his arms from the cold and he was getting hungry and exhausted from constantly having to defend himself over things he shouldn’t have to.

“I’m sure we are able to squeeze it in to make it more organised.” Rimmer started reshuffling Lister’s work in a way that was not only going to make things look much worse than before, but he also managed to tumble down half of the shelf products in the process. The milk bottles started falling to the floor, one bursting.

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about!” Rimmer exploded. “If you arranged them logically, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Are you for real, man?! You just threw them down, I had nothing to do with it!” Lister reasoned, not shouting but feeling increasingly exasperated.

“Well, you were distracting me! And perhaps if they didn’t make the packaging so damn fragile, they wouldn’t break all the time.” Rimmer deflected while trying to contain the spillages.

“They literally never do. What’s next, Rimmer? It’s the cow’s fault for producing the milk? Honestly, why’re you always trying to displace the blame? Just own up to your mistake and move on! Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Me?! Now, listen up, squire, it’s you who-“

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind them. “I was just wondering if you had any more crunchy peanut butter?”

“What’s on the shelves is what we have,” Rimmer snapped at the customer.

“Hang on,” Lister intervened. “We haven’t worked the condiments and stuff yet, could always have a look in the new deliveries,” he suggested assertively. A dream employee behaviour, you would think.

Rimmer put his sweaty palm in Lister’s face as he talked to the customer. “We are not able to do that, unfortunately. Terribly sorry, try tomorrow or take the smooth butter, alright? Have a nice evening, lady.” Rimmer smiled and waited for her to leave. Then he turned back at Lister ominously. “David? In the office. Now,” he commanded. Lister raised an eyebrow and followed him out of the shop floor. Whatever, at least he could take a break from the cooler.

As Lister sat in one of the chairs in the tiny office, he rubbed his arms to warm up and chase away the goosebumps. Rimmer was oblivious or indifferent to his discomfort. He sat on the swivel chair in front of him and regarded him seriously.

“I’ve told you this before and I am saying it again. I will not put this on record just yet, but I have to formally warn you that this behaviour will not be tolerated.” Lister couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough as Rimmer spoke. “You should never question your superior in front of a customer. It does not reflect well on us. You should trust your superior knows best even if you don’t understand why. You can always ask me if you have any questions, but we have policies in place for a reason.”

Lister wanted to scream.

Thing was, Lister really needed the job. He couldn’t afford to quit another one and rely on games of pool to pay his rent. They would barely cover his smokes. He might be inclined to go dodgier and dodgier for better money and next time he would leave the pub in a black bin bag. His mind went to dark places right there. But he snapped out of it. Comparing to what he’d been through, he could handle smegheads like Rimmer for breakfast. So, he just smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“Okay, Rimmer.”

“Don’t try to talk back with your-“ Rimmer started immediately before stopping himself. “Okay?”

Lister shrugged. “Yeah, won’t question ya in front of people. Can I have me break now?”

Rimmer frowned, glancing at the clock. “Yes. Yes, go on your break and have a think about it.”

Lister shook his head, got up and headed for the door.

“And Lister?”

“Yeah?”

“Fix that _smegging_ badge!”

* * *

The second time around, Rimmer wasn’t so lucky. He would have thought he let Lister get away with his attitude easily, but in fact, it had been Lister who let Rimmer off the hook without trouble. The cat and mouse game intensified to such high level that night, that it couldn’t end up without an explosion.

Because Lister had been choking back insults and screams all day, it would only take a tiny spark to ignite the fuse. It was around 9:30 pm, when only Lister, Rimmer and Holly stayed in the shop to close up. As per usual, Rimmer kept dropping remarks and orders, nagging and pestering throughout the whole shift. Lister was just walking to the back of the store after Holly temporarily relieved him from the tills so he could have a glass of water in the staff room. Rimmer emerged from around the corner of the alley. Somehow, Lister saw the whole scene flash before his eyes before it even started happening.

Rimmer raised his goddamn index finger and opened his smegging cakehole to deliver one last remark aimed at Lister.

“Where do you think you’re going?” They headed towards each other and when Rimmer stopped, Lister kept going. He kept going even when he was already too close and Rimmer made a step back. Then another, and one more before he was too near the shelves behind him and Lister still hadn’t replied. With Rimmer’s last abrupt step back, he hit the rack with jars behind him and all of them started falling and shattering on the floor loudly, mixing with the sound of Lister’s shouts.

“Stop! I’m not taking one more smegging order from you! This isn’t military, grow the smeg up and get over yourself, I have _had it!_ D’you hear me?” Rimmer closed his eyes shut not to get any of Lister’s spit in them as he was yelling so close to his face Rimmer could see his nostril hair moving with fury. “You’ve got some fundamental defect, something deeply wrong with ya, can’t you see that how insanely crazy you sound sometimes? You’re proper weird! What is it? Did your mommy never pay attention and your father was too strict, too demanding and you could never please him no matter how hard you tried and so you ended up being unsatisfiable, miserable bastard yerself?! This, Rimmer, this is why nobody likes you! In fact, this is why everyone hates you! You need to chill the smeg out!”

Lister had to focus on his breathing for a while to catch up. Rimmer’s eyes were still shut when he realised nobody actually hit him. He fully expected Lister to hit him. But all he did was really point out everything that was true. He slowly opened his eyes to see a glimpse of something in Lister’s eyes. Regret, pity, frustration or sympathy. He didn’t know. Maybe everything. They were standing among broken jars of red and orange jams, marmalades and Nutellas. None of them moved or said anything for a beat before Rimmer let out a shaky breath and quietly excused himself.

Lister rubbed his forehead. “Smeg,” he whispered, and swiped the jars to one side before he left to the staff room to have his water. He certainly needed it now.

After downing two glasses of cold water, Lister left the room and looked around. He wasn’t even sure where Rimmer went, but the light was on in the office, so he assumed he went there to file a very angry report. He was still so angry himself. He wanted to go to Rimmer for seconds, but he also felt this pit in his stomach. Maybe the look in Rimmer’s eyes reflecting back at him before he left. One way or another, he decided to have a goosey in the office to see what was up.

He didn’t actually expect to find Rimmer sitting on the ground holding his knees. He furrowed his brows as he walked in.

“Go away!” Rimmer said but in an entirely different commanding tone than usual. It was more vulnerable.

“Hey, guy, what’s up? Are you okay?”

“Lister, please leave,” he pleaded, avoiding the eye contact. Lister considered doing so.

“I’m sorry about the jars, man. I’ll clean that up.”

Rimmer shook his head, frantically trying to find a spot to look at. He held one of his pens and kept clicking it open and closed repeatedly. Lister slowly approached him, pulling the door behind him so it was only ajar. He sat on the manager’s swivel chair to be closer to Rimmer’s level.

“And I suppose sorry for the shoutin’. That’s not me. I’m tired and I had a really annoying customer.” He rubbed his palms nervously. In that moment, Rimmer made a sound not unlike choking back a sob.

“You were right, though,” Rimmer muttered. Lister couldn’t really hear him, so he leaned elbows on his knees to get even closer – despite his better judgement.

“What?”

“That nobody likes me.” Rimmer stared ahead and continued clicking his pen against his palm. “Everyone loves you,” he said. Lister’s face suddenly felt warm.

“Get outta town, seriously.” He half-smiled.

“It’s true. Ever since you came here, you charmed your customers, your co-workers, your superiors.” The Scouser gave him a puzzled look. “When we came to Starbug, they were happy to see you, after seeing you what – once before? You know what I’m told when I visit it? They greet me with ‘oh, it’s you again.’” Normally, Lister would snicker at that, but it just seemed a bit sad coming from Rimmer now. “Nobody respects me. Nobody is ever glad to see me,” he confessed, his breathing unsteady. Lister noticed the deep reddening dots on Rimmer’s palm from where he dug his pen into. He decided to sink one last step and got on the floor next to his supervisor. He gently took the pen from his hands. Rimmer let him.

“At the pub, when we left, I mean, you got on so well with everyone. It’s never happened before, people don’t generally show up at the events I organise. And if they do, they leave in the middle to go clubbing or something. They leave secretly when I’m in the bathroom.”

“Oh, Rimmer.”

“But last week, everyone stayed, except for Todhunter but he’s a goit.” Lister chuckled this time. “And they didn’t even mind so much that I ruined the whole quiz. Because you were there, like a… you balanced the group like…” he searched for words.

“Like a scoop of smooth sour cream on very hot and annoying chilli con carne.” Lister smiled. Rimmer gave him a quick, mixed up look.

“Sure. But then we all left and…” The life seemed to drain from Rimmer’s eyes. “It’s like I was invisible again.” He hid his face in his hands, shaking ever so slightly. “So, I thought, nobody would notice if I was gone. Nobody noticed that I left.” His face grew hotter and he was practically hyperventilating. It so dawned on Lister this may not be about broken jars and badly organised products after all. He reached for one of Rimmer’s hands and pulled it off his face. The hand felt cold. Still, he didn’t let it go.

“Hey. I noticed,” he said.

Rimmer was stunned to hear that. Enough to stop panicking altogether, just letting the statement sink in. In a few seconds, he realised Lister held his hand, he flinched it away immediately and looked at Lister’s genuine, unambiguously concerned face.

“You really did?” he asked weakly. Lister shrugged.

“Sure did. One minute you were there and then you were gone. Thought we were too loud and annoying,” he explained, regarding him.

Rimmer just shook his head, not knowing what to say.

“D’you think you’re the only one who ever feels this way? You think I don’t feel alone all the time?” Lister said seriously.

“You?” Rimmer asked incredulously.

“I think you’re romanticising me a bit there. We’re not always what we seem like on the surface. Like you don’t know how alone I am. And I don’t know why you’re a smeghead, but I’m sure you’ve got a good reason.”

Rimmer nodded a few times, gathering all his energy not to cry in front of Lister.

“D’you wanna do your rotation timetables or whatever, while I finish up with Holly? Don't worry I am fast, I can keep up."

"That would be nice. Thanks, David."

Lister gave him a smile and patted his shoulder before getting up and leaving. Rimmer furiously wiped the tears threatening to escape his eyes. He really smegged it up today.


	7. Yvonne McGruder?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some *discussion* about non-consensual sex

_Morning_

After the absolute embarrassment of an evening, Rimmer did his best to avoid Lister. He never, ever lost it at work like that. And he couldn’t justify what made him expose himself like that. Lister saw him in a vulnerable state, and he might as well be walking naked now because that’s how he felt.

It had been about two weeks since then and Rimmer subtly swapped a few shifts with Kryten (who would nod to absolutely anything, bless him) or Holly (who would not even notice his schedule changed and it was evil of Rimmer to do it without consulting him). When he was indeed working with Lister, he avoided him or generally got off his back which Lister seemed to either ignore or be grateful for. Rimmer hated to admit it but the employee seemed somewhat more productive and less on edge. This didn’t help Rimmer’s self-esteem issues which have escalated as of late. He steered clear of people’s way believing and being proved they are better off without his interference.

So instead, he tried to focus more on himself. He took up morning runs again as well as swimming, and he actually kept up with it. Well, today was his second run this week and that counted for something, surely. Powered by his need to prove himself – to himself, Rimmer got up at 5 a.m. and gulped down a cheap energy drink before slipping into his running shoes and clothes. It was 5°C outside this early in the morning, but he just had to rely on his burning hatred for everything to keep him warm.

After a 5-minute run around the block (better than nothing, he thought) he hastily discarded his clothes again and spent 15 minutes in hot shower. Then he proceeded to tame his curly hair with a comb and some gel. He regarded himself in the mirror and sighed. He had to man up. Maybe today was the day.

Today he would ask for a promotion.

Again.

In the bedroom, Rimmer retrieved his perfectly ironed uniform shirt and trousers hanging in his closet and dressed up. Before leaving, he had a second pick-me-up in the form of a coffee and some bread. He also took a chilled bottle of water from the fridge and one of the identical looking plastic containers neatly labelled with today’s date and contents. His brother once ceremoniously visited him and declared Rimmer organised his things like a senior with Alzheimer’s. Well, at least he was organised. At least he never lost things. He was never hungry at inappropriate time, Rimmer reassured himself, looking around the room. The flat was still, quiet. Lonely.

He would never get married either.

So be it.

* * *

_Noon_

Rimmer knocked at the manager’s office door a few hours into his shift, just when two more staff members arrived to mind the till and delivery.

"Holly."

"Yes, Arnold?" Holly, hunched over a bulky white monitor, says monotonously as he unhurriedly closed the minesweeper game to reveal a financial spreadsheet underneath. It took good 3 seconds for the tabs to switch. 

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Rimmer said as he closed the door. Holly shrugged. 

"Unless it’s another complaint against David. I was beginning to think you lads finally worked it out."

"Er, that will quite possibly never happen, that git needs chaos more than a Scottish labourer needs Gregg's sausage roll on a Sunday morning."

"Oi, they are priceless." 

"£1 is not exactly priceless. It's very much worth £1. Perhaps you meant taste-less." 

"You what? Are we talking about the same sausage roll? You think you're a sausage expert suddenly? Are you even British?" 

"I imagine we're from slightly different background." 

"Figures." Holly shook his head. 

"Anyway, as much as I'd love to sip on breakfast tea and have a chat about good old England and her Majesty, I'm here for a reason." 

"Go on, then." Holly sipped on his breakfast tea. Rimmer straightened his posture to look capable. 

"I would like to enrol in the management program again. I am ready to get promoted." 

Few seconds of silence. Holly put down his tea. 

"After you waltz in here and tell me you are better than Gregg's sausage, is that it?" 

"Yes, sir." Rimmer kept his head up. Shift leader in a supermarket may not be the most honourable position for a man of his breeding but just wait for the look on their faces when they hear he became the store manager. And then perhaps the district manager. Head of sales. Maybe head of HR. Marketing. Whatever he can get his hands on. Up up up the ziggurat, lickety-split. 

Holly shook his head. "Why not then. Someone has to replace me when I retire." Holly brought in the paperwork from a drawer. 

"Indeedy, and I am more than ready to do so."

"I meant Frank. But you might be able to replace him as an assistant. You know the job anyway." Rimmer shrugged, better than nothing. He can then proceed to push Todhunter forward wherever he pleases, and he can seize the management position of this store. Nobody will question his authority then. 

"In fact, I was wondering if I could skip the program altogether. Let's face it; I know how to do rotations and spreadsheets, I can open and close the store, I have leadership strategies and…qualities, excellent communication skills. I even conducted interviews!" Rimmer listed on his fingers, just like he rehearsed. 

"Yeah, but doesn't mean you're any good at those things. You hired Dave, for example. Don't get me wrong, he's a good chap but.. "

"Ha! But I was insisting it's a wrong choice, that was Todhunter's move. In fact, it was yours if I'm not wrong. So, you agree Lister is utterly useless? We could still fire him, you know."

"Nah, I sort of got used to the fella."

"Whatever. Look, let me prove myself. I'll do all those exercise books and courses, I'll answer any questions - quiz me on anything, I'm an open book. You know me, I do the job well."

Holly thought for a while. "Well, of course you have to undergo the observation in practice." 

"That's fine, let Todhunter observe me, maybe he can learn something. Or you can observe." 

"No, it has to be someone external, from the central. District manager or something." 

"Oh, God." 

"So, I'll sign you up then." 

"Yes... Yes! I can do it. I mean, you became a manager, how hard can it be?" 

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Holly furrowed his brows. "I happen to have a PhD." 

"You," Rimmer paused, "have a PhD." He repeated slowly, not believing a single syllable of that statement. 

"Yeah." Holly nodded assertively. 

"In what?" Rimmer demanded. 

"Science." 

"Science? What kind?" 

"Business... Science. Or wait, was that a Bsc? Oh, yeah, an MBA. Something like that. My bad," Holly mused. 

"Thanks for the clarification, you just fill me with confidence."

"I'm just taking a break from my studies, you know," the manager continued. 

"Sure you are. Okay, put in a word for me then, yes? I'm ready to start when they are." He started getting up. 

"It's what Hilly and I have in common, you see. Beside the name coincidence." 

"Like what, both short-term and long-term amnesia?" Rimmer guessed sarcastically. 

"No, she trained to be a counselling psychologist, actually."

"Yeah, I see the similarity already." He started to leave. 

"She's just doing this temporarily, the bar work, that is. That's what she said. Like me."

"Jesus smegging Christ, give me strength," Rimmer muttered as he finally left the office. 

* * *

_Afternoon_

Rimmer was meticulously stacking pasta at the bottom shelf while basking under the rare English sunshine peeking through the window when a shadow loomed over him. He first ignored it but became irritated when it didn’t go away, so he raised his head and squinted. In fact, it was relatively pretty shadow. Hold on-

“Arnold Rimmer?” a female voice said. Rimmer speedily leapt on his feet, rising good several inched above the woman.

“Yvonne McGruder?!” he copied, seemingly even more taken aback. She laughed and swept her brown hair back to look up at the employee.

“I didn’t think you still worked here. How long has it been since I last saw you? Must have been a year, maybe two,” she reminisced. Rimmer looked away.

“Indeed. Just about.. one year, eight months. And three weeks. Give or take a fortnight,” he blabbered.

“Wow, I didn’t think I was that hard to forget,” she said and leaned on the shelves casually.

“Oh, I mean, I just have a very good perception of time. Time memory. That kind of thing.”

“Sure. So, how’s life treating you?”

“Ah, you know, same old. No, in fact, I’m going for a promotion, right now. That’s right, manager of the store. Basically.” He crossed his arms.

“Good for you, Rimmer.”

“Yeah. So, uhm, what about you? Where have you…gone?” he asked cautiously, still avoiding eye contact. So did she now.

“Well, I went travelling. I started boxing professionally, you see, shortly after I left I played in a UK championship, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m back to London now. Anyway, for what it’s worth… I’m sorry I bailed like that the last time. And let you deal with the…drama. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Rimmer shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s not like you’re the runaway mother of my children or anything,” he joked.

“You have got children?!”

“No! God, no. I’m just saying. Never mind. It’s all in the past. We made a big deal out of nothing.”

“That’s true,” she agreed. They stayed quiet for a while, until they were interrupted.

“Hey, Rimmeh,” echoed a voice first from McGruder’s direction and then finishing at Rimmer’s side. The team leader followed it, turning around hectically.

“Lister! You are-“ Rimmer pulled up his sleeve to check the time. “… relatively early. Keep moving then.”

“Yeah, I’ve had a lovely mornin’, thanks for askin’.” Lister rolled his eyes and then they landed on McGruder, so he gave her a smile. Then wordlessly turned on his heel and proceeded to the staff room.

“Goited, smegging bastard,” Rimmer muttered under his breath.

“Woah, why the hate?” she said with amusement.

“Did you see the way he eyed you? Some men have no respect.”

“Says the man who tried to hypnotize me when he met me.” She raised her eyebrows. “Besides, so what if he did, are you jealous, Big Man?” she purred. Rimmer stiffened like a plank.

“W-why on Earth would I be jealous of you?”

“Him?” she raised her eyebrows higher.

“That’s what I said!” he rattled off. Then cleared his throat. She looked around awkwardly.

“Anyway, it was good to see you again, Rimmer.”

“Same, Yvonne.”

“You know, maybe we could… have a coffee sometime. Just to catch up. No pressure, though.”

“No, that’s. That’s, uh, could be quite nice. Perhaps. Yes.” Rimmer started fumbling with a product on a shelf. She laughed.

“I probably still have your number. If not, I suspect I know where to find you.”

“Where?”

“Here,” she gestured.

“Yes. I knew that.” He nodded. “Good then. Splendid.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, Rimmer. See you later, then.” She patted his shoulder and moved on.

“Ouch.” Rimmer rubbed his shoulder absently. The boxer’s touch was a bit much for his fragile shoulder. He watched her leave until he lost the sight of her and then sighed heavily and glanced at his watches. Well, just about time for lunch.

"What the smeg is that smell?” was the first thing Rimmer said when he entered the staff room. “What are you eating, Lister? Whatever it is, it should be in a radioactive container." 

"Just a snack," Lister said defensively.

Rimmer came closer and lifted the small tin carefully with two fingers. "Mackerel in curry sauce." He gagged and put it back on the table before rushing to wash his hands. "Words can't describe what disgusting a person you are." 

Lister held the tin and a fork in front of his mouth but stopped to answer first. He slammed it on the table and some of the sauce/oil spilled on the table. "This is such hostile workplace environment. A workplace harassment." He pointed blindly at the posters about this on the notice board behind him. 

"That's not what that means." Rimmer crossed his arms. "But I think it is hostile of you to eat that vile stuff in a small unventilated staff room." 

Lister shrugged. "You sell them in the store, not my problem, man." Rimmer shook his head and retrieved his bag from the locker. They remained quiet for a while before Lister chuckled.

"So, who was the bird?" 

"What are you drivelling on about again?" 

"You know what. The girl you talked to before." 

"A customer," Rimmer retorted. "Believe it or not, half the people on this planet are of female sex." 

"She wasn't just a customer. You knew each other. I could tell." Lister took a morsel of the tinned fish. "She was cute."

Rimmer stopped what he was doing and turned to Lister threateningly. “I can’t stress enough how much it is _not_ your business.”

"So there is a business, eh?" 

"Oh, eons ago. She used to work in Starbug.”

“Old girlfriend, then?”

“No. And _stop_ interrogating me!" 

"Sounds like ya wanna talk about it." 

"No, I don't!" Rimmer shouted and slammed his pre-packed lunch into the microwave, angrily punching the time in. Lister raised his eyebrows and minded his mackerels.

Rimmer looked around the room quietly, spotting something at one of the staff notice boards. “Lister. What is this?” He pointed, coming closer to the aforementioned board.

"What?" 

"This." He ripped the hand-written paper off. "Did you put that there? What did I tell you about unauthorised use of the board? By the way, I had to reprint my employee of the month certificate three times already. Have any guesses on who keeps putting pins in my eyes and mouth?" Rimmer frowned. 

"Man, you have some serious enemies if they put pins in yer eyes and mouth." 

"Shut your face. I know it's you." He squinted at the Scouser and then regarded the sheet of paper he obtained. " _You are all invited to me 90’s themed birthday party on Saturday. Bring your own bottle and CDs but I draw the line at Backstreet boys_.." Rimmer read out the invitation. "Unauthorised advertisement." He ripped the paper and tossed it in the bin at the other side of the room. He missed. 

"Oi! I'll just have to tell everyone personally on the shift then! Wasting the precious time I could be workin'." 

"I can't win with you," Rimmer said and went to retrieve his heated-up lunch. 

"Keeps your wits sharp," Lister replied as he finished his radioactive tin and finally trashed that monstrosity. He took a drink from the tap (by leaning his head into the sink, yes) and headed out. "So, you're gonna come?" he asked in the door. 

"I'm on a break," Rimmer said without glancing at him. 

"To me party, git." 

Rimmer lifted his head. "Me?" 

"No, the quiche on your plate. Yes, you." 

Rimmer thought for a while. "No chance, squire," he said quickly and averted his attention to the food. Lister waved his hand in dismissal and left the room. 

Rimmer sat in the room quietly and ate his meal. Before he went back to work, however, he picked up the crumpled piece of paper with Lister's address on it and stuffed it in his pocket. Just in case he changed his mind. 

* * *

_Evening_

Lister just finished the closing shift with Kryten and Todhunter. He did love to work with Kryten. He was very conscientious but never commanding. He managed to perfectly balance the workload and chatting with co-workers and customers. He was really charming, but not to everyone. You had to warm up to the kind of man Kryten was, or have certain sense of humour or tolerance as he could be a bit peculiar. Which was fine, Lister pretty much only hang out with people of that strange kind.

They even managed to close early as Todhunter had no problem with that as long as it’s past customer closing time and everything was done. Lister decided to venture to Starbug with Kryten who was picking up Camille.

“Hey ladies. Busy night?” Lister asked as he sat on his usual barstool next to Kryten.

“Well, it’s Wednesday so,” Hilly replied, gesturing at the half empty bar.

“Yeah. It’s just, something to say. I didn’t really mean it. Can I have a-”

“Lager. I’m on it, Dave,” she said as she poured him one and a glass of wine for Kryten. “You finished early today, lads,” she stated.

“Rimmer wasn’t there for the close, so, yeah,” Lister said with delight.

“Clearly. How’s that going with him?” Camille joined the conversation.

“Watcha mean?” Lister took a gulp of his hard-earned beer.

“Is he giving you much trouble?”

“Nah. Haven’t worked a full shift with ‘im for some time. But he’s alright. Sometimes,” he said almost fondly.

“Are you so certain?” Kryten intervened. “I saw you placing a tin of mackerels in his till drawer today and then him tripping you with his foot so you fell onto the trash can.”

“Oh, that’s how we joke.” Lister waved his hand.

“Every time I see them, it’s bickering or a shouting match. Like an old married couple!” Kryten threw his arms out.

Lister rolled his eyes. “That’s ‘cause I’m the only one who knows how to deal with the smegger. Nobody ever stands up to him, especially you, Krytes. And you’re way better at the crappy job.”

“I can’t just question my superior and get reported every day like you, no offense!”

“I don’t, though. He doesn’t have the balls to actually report me. He doesn’t have solid enough reasons.”

“If I behaved the way you do, he’d do it,” Kryten sulked.

“It’s because you let him step over you, Krytie. He’s used to you crouchin’. Don’t take that smeg, it only gives ‘im power. I’ll take your side.”

“I suppose he’s right. You need to stand up for yourself, babe,” Camille said and Kryten gave her a frustrated but endearing look.

“He is right. Rimmer is an authoritarian personality, he feeds on obedience but only until he feels the person isn’t a stronger force than him. Then he cowers. And he is only really like that ‘cause he’s so insecure. He keeps finding fault in others because he’s so pathologically afraid of his own shortcomings and problems. That guy needs a therapy, pronto.”

“Wow. Hilly, you know an awful lot about Rimmer’s mind. Ugh, what a dark place.“ Lister made a face. “I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“He’s somewhat of a casual-professional interest of mine. Fascinating subject, to be honest. And no, he wouldn’t have it if you tell him. You have to show him in a way he will understand. That’s the hard part.” She shrugged and poured herself a house wine.

“Actually, I wanted to ask something. There was a woman in store, I saw Rimmer talk to her. He seemed different. He wouldn’t say anything, but he said she used to work here,” Lister inquired.

“That would be miss McGruder,” Kryten replied first. “I talked to her myself today. Delightful to see her again.”

“McGruder is back? Oh boy,” Hilly said.

“So, what’s the goss?” Lister leaned on the bar.

“What a nosy lad,” Camille said just before she left the bar to serve a table.

“It’s a bit complicated. He wouldn’t be happy if I told you,” Hilly hesitated.

“Come ooon, Kryten?”

“I, well, I’m not really the one…Hilly is the one who had worked with her, really.”

“That’s exactly the assertiveness issue we talked about, man!”

“Okay, okay!” Hilly interrupted. “So, she used to work here in Starbug. Rimmer came here quite a lot at that time. They met and talked on regular basis. Then something happened, and nobody really knows what it was. They saw each other outside of work, once or few times at most.” she narrated, taking a sip of wine self-importantly.

“They went on a date. If you can call it that,” Camille added when she came back with an order.

“I only know what Yvonne told me,” Hilly continued. “But Rimmer was in trouble with a lot of people here, got on their bad side. They went out, had a pizza or something. He got a bit drunk, she said. And…” She became visibly hesitant again.

“And what?” Lister prodded.

“She said…he forced himself at her, a bit?” she said in a small voice.

“A bit?” Lister raised his eyebrows.

“A lot,” Camille added sternly.

“We don’t know that. There were later doubts about this rumour. Rimmer denied it but something didn’t seem right. He knew it was his word against hers, he was really beaten up about the whole thing,” she defended.

“Yeah, guilty about the lapse in judgement with her, regretting his inexcusable behaviour,” Camille pressed.

“Ladies, we are only speculating once again! This is why we do not talk about it,” Kryten interrupted the argument.

“What if she lied? And then left because _she_ was guilty about falsely accusing him? It’s _Rimmer_ , Camille. That man can’t stand his own ground, he would never hurt a fly. He probably hasn’t had a date ever since then. In all honesty, he’s probably not even into women at all. Why would he do that?”

Lister watched this with interest.

“It’s not at all polite to gossip about someone who doesn’t have a chance to defend himself, I must say,” Kryten added.

“Stop, stop,” Lister said then. “You all have a point. Kryten is right, he can’t defend himself and neither can she. And there is some sense in what Hilly’s sayin’, Rimmer is a loser. If a girl lost interest, he’d flee with his tail tucked in.”

“So, everyone is right except for me?” Camille said. “You know him for several weeks, Lister.”

“Now, there, darling,” Kryten said.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Hilly ends the debate. “It’s been a long time ago and you said you saw them talking, right? So they buried the hatchet, whatever happened. If you’re so interested, ask them.”

“Fair enough,” Lister said, taking a long drink.


	8. Party night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of a setback/writer's block over the Christmas period, so I decided to make it up to you by posting two chapters at once since they really just describe one event! Enjoy!!

Rimmer spent _agonising_ amount of time in his endeavour to look nonchalant about appearing at a party he declined to come to. In fact, he put so much thought and effort into getting ready for the event, he ended up looking like he did in fact care very much about it. However, because he spent so much time preparing, he ended up arriving late, which in turn, resulted in being nonchalantly and fashionably late. Therefore, balancing it out, he probably looked like he cared a normal about. He could get away with that.

He followed the address on the crumpled piece of invitation as he headed from the bus stop to the block of buildings. It wasn’t a very nice area but Rimmer had no illusions about Lister’s wealth. You could kind of tell – when you’re from a good family. Which Rimmer was.

He had a bit of a problem figuring out the bells downstairs as none of them had any label, but he eventually realised the door wasn’t locked. He walked up the stairway which smelled like uncle Frank’s kitchen when he binged a box of cigarettes. Barely any of the doors had name plates either, but it wasn’t necessary – the noise led the way. He indeed arrived to the source of the loud music. There was a note on the door with the words ‘PARTY – come in!’ in bad handwriting. Super weird, Rimmer thought.

He had a little stare-contest with the buzzer as his mind tried to sabotage him by producing a million of reasons to change his mind. Then he heard Hilly’s voice in his head. She used to brainwash him with her psychobabble about ‘going out of his comfort zone’ and ‘growing as a person’. He didn’t buy that, of course. But then again, what if things _do_ go right for him? Maybe he gets to talk to a woman. Or at least nobody will laugh at him for being a massive weirdo. If he gets a bit uneasy, he can always find a quiet corner to read his pocket version of 19th century telegraph poles. Yes, it can work. Rimmer countered his neuroses. But perhaps he should make a pros and cons list first.

Before he could decide, the door itself opened and a charming young lady stormed out of them, bumping into Rimmer. They both screamed.

“Sheesh, you gave me a fright, man,” she said and then laughed. “Are you the pizza guy?”

“Uhh-“

“Hey Lise, bring some ciggies from the offie as well, will yeh?” said a familiar voice from behind her. "Yo, it's Rimmeh!" he exclaimed and squeezed himself in the doorway. "Didn't think you'd show up – hold up, what the smeg are you wearin'?" He laughed out loud as he took in Rimmer's attire, particularly the French military hat he wore. "This is 90's style party, man, didn't you read the leaflet?" 

Rimmer was slightly irritated at being laughed at by both of the already, but he straightened his posture and replied with pride. "You didn't specify which 90's, now, did you? So, I'm going as in an officer from the Napoleon’s army in 1790's," he said smugly. 

Lister looked at his friend. "See what I have to work with?" He gesticulated towards Rimmer and then sighed and opened the door wider. "Come in then, ya smartarse git."

Rimmer entered the small hallway of the small two-bedroom flat. He could hear a lot of voices from the other rooms so Lister must have managed to get people to come over. Of course he did, popular gimboid. Rimmer only just noticed the chaos of an attire Lister wore. Everything was colourful and neon. Bright lime tacky plastic sunglasses perched on his head, neon green t-shirt layered with an oversized funky shirt, a sleeveless leather jacket of sorts, and form-fitting leather trousers. It was just horrendous.

“So what is this exactly? A birthday party, a Halloween party or 90’s themed party? Or is it 80’s for that matter, judging by the amount of neon, leotards and leg warmers, he commented as he watched two girls in exactly that pass them.

“Well, that’s a good question. All of it, really.” Lister shrugged and took the last cigarette out of his packet. “It was supposed to be birthday party, but it got postponed so it mixed with Halloween. But me and Cat argued if we should have a theme. We couldn’t decide whether 80’s or 90’s ‘cause I wanted the rock of 90’s but he likes the 80’s fashion, like, so we advertised different stuff. I mean, Kryten just came in a homemade Robocop cosplay. It’s hysterical.” He laughed and lit up the cigarette. “And then it’s you in yer…” He gave him a once over. “Napoleon. Y’know, I’m not surprised.”

“Not Napoleon himself.” Rimmer brought a finger up and then just waved his hand. “Never mind. I can’t say I am too surprised either that you can’t correctly organise a party, Listy,” he teased. Lister raised his eyebrows at the nickname and swayed playfully.

“Better call Mr. Organised next time.” He shook his head and set off to the kitchen/living room where most guests were. “Come grab a beer or somethin’, _Rimsy_.”

Rimmer’s stomach felt a little queasy at hearing the nickname. He must have been a bit hungry, better find some snacks to go with the beer.

“Lister! These better not be our Halloween sweets that were unfit for sale!” was Rimmer’s first observation when he entered the living area.

“’course not, boss,” Lister dismissed him unconvincingly and fetched a can of beer for Rimmer, who hated beer but took it anyway.

“So… how old are you?”

“Eh?”

“Your birthday?”

“Oh, right. 24. How old are you?” he asked back, not knowing what else to contribute.

“What is this, pre-school?” Rimmer cringed.

“You started it, man.” Lister laughed a little and took a drag of his cigarette. “Plus don’t you keep all employee bio in your little files at work?”

“It’s called making conversation, Lister.” Rimmer rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Lister. Surprised and touched at the gesture, Lister opened it and found two small vouchers in it.

“£5 vouchers to our store. Expiring today.” Lister inspected it, looking up at Rimmer with a sarcastic smile. “Thanks man, you shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t mention it, couldn’t come here empty handed.”

“A bottle of vodka would have been fine but the thought counts. I think.”

“I also brought some Reggie Wilson to spice up the music-“ Rimmer reached into his bag to take out a CD with some Hammond motive on the cover. This alarmed Lister and without thinking, he slapped the CD out of Rimmer’s hands. He then shattered it with his heavy boot.

“Sorry!” Lister looked up at Rimmer with pretended regret. “There was a bug.”

“Lister! Do you have any idea how precious that copy was?!” 

“I’ll give you another one in return! With better music on it.”

“There _is_ no better music!”

“Heeeeeeeyyy!” yowled someone while forcing himself between the pair to speak to Lister. “ _Someone_ promised to buy more gin, hm? Why am I not holding it in my hand now?”

Rimmer viewed the flamboyant intruder. He wore a sparkly and frilly purple suit, looking like he came straight out of Strictly Come Dancing or something.

“Lise went to the shop, cool your jets, Cat,” Lister explained. Cat just hummed and turned around to face Rimmer. He gave him a disapproving look.

“Who’s the ugly museum runaway?”

“That’s Rimmer, from work,” Lister said.

“Really?” He glanced back at his flatmate. “The loser who cries at work?!”

“LISTER!” Rimmer’s nostrils expanded and cheeks tinted. Lister just took a step back, hands before him.

“Let’s all just take a breather. No drama on me party.”

“Tell that to the Poundland-worth Prince!”

“You take that back-” Cat gesticulated to his outfit “-tunnel nostrils Stalin!”

“Hey, look, it’s Lise back with smokes and gin,” he called out unenthusiastically. “Look guys, I know you’re both very…dominant personalities, but can ya try to be civil? Cat’s my best mate, Rimmer. And Cat, this guy can ruin my whole day at work, so try not to make him even more resentful than he is. Do it for me, eh?” He raised an eyebrow expectantly. The duo just hummed vaguely, not making any promises. Lister shook his head and left them to it.

“You’re lucky hamster-cheeks likes you, or I’d throw you out.” Cat frowned.

“Likes me? Sadly, Lister doesn’t even respect me.”

“You don’t need to respect someone to like them, non-bud. Who said I respect the walking curry stain?” he said and Rimmer grinned ever so subtly.

“So, who are the poor girls Lister’s chatting up?” Rimmer said inquisitively, watching Lister lively sipping and entertaining a couple of ladies, including the aforementioned Lise.

“You mean his ex and neighbour bud-babe?” Cat said and took a sip of something in a flute glass. Hardly a champagne.

“Say what?”

“The Lise chick went out with him ages ago, she was always here and they were taking up space in the living room being disgusting.”

“They look like a good match,” Rimmer mused. “What happened?”

“Don’t know and don’t care,” Cat said.

“And the other one?” Rimmer prompted.

“Kochanski? She lives downstairs and he is obsessed with her.”

“Obsessed?” Rimmer asked. Cat gave him an annoyed look.

“What do you care? Do I look like Yellow Pages? Ask someone else,” he scoffed and left Rimmer on his own, too.

Rimmer sighed, taking a gulp of the beer Lister shoved in his hand and cringed at the taste. Looking around, he saw groups of people enjoying themselves. Lister’s boy-group in one corner drinking, dancing, and apparently, taking gulps of Buckfast and trying to squirt it through their nose. What the smeg?

He finally spotted a familiar face in a similar age group. “So, it looks like I’m not the only one out of place,” Rimmer said casually as he approached his colleague who was pouring himself some wine. “Share some of that, will you?” he said as he put the beer away to never touch it again.

“Oh, good evening, Arnold. In fact, I believe I am perfectly in place. Robocop is both a Halloween costume and a 1980’s classic, unlike a Napoleonic officer? Besides, I thought you said you had no interest to show up at David’s ‘frivolous toddler parties,’ as you put it.”

“Congratulations, Kryten, all you’re missing is a party hat,” he said bitterly and dodged answering the other remark. He took the plastic cup with wine Kryten poured him. “What do you know about partying, anyway? Your idea of an ideal evening is ironing and watching Coronation street,” Rimmer said bitterly, taking a drink of slightly more acceptable drink.

“I for one think it’s polite to accept an invitation! What I consider the height of insolence is declining and then showing up anyway!” Kryten said theatrically.

“Why is everyone in this room so flipping annoying?” Rimmer said calmly, oblivious to the fact that he is most certainly the detrimental factor in the level of unpleasantness of a conversation. Perhaps it did not matter what kind of personality the person is. Arnold Rimmer simply does not get along with anyone.

* * *

Rimmer, somewhat more relaxed after the glass of cheap but potent wine, decided to explore the rest of the flat. Maybe he would pack it soon, the company sucked, he thought. The hall he found himself in lead to a small bathroom, two bedrooms and presumably a storage room. Rimmer was initially heading for the bathroom, but he got curious and peeked in the first bedroom instead. Like the rest of the flat, the room was small and shabby, but it was richly and nicely decorated, everything colour coordinated, which Rimmer could appreciate, even if it wasn’t his style. Although, he couldn’t see all too well as the room was only illuminated with a dim lamp and a purple lava lamp.

“Hey, it’s the Napoleon!” someone said with a giggle. He made a step further into the room to see three people lounging on the floor, eating Halloween snacks and talking. One of the girls was lying with her head on the other’s lap. They looked pretty comfortable.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he muttered and was just about to leave again before they stopped him.

“Nah, come and join us. They don’t know how to have fun next door. Chat with us, pal.”

Rimmer was hesitant for a while but nobody seemed to be interested to talk to him until now, so he appreciated the attention. Plus, this was the only room not reeking of smokes and sweat. He approached the carpet and sat down next to them.

“So, are you Lister’s friends?” he asked.

“Sort of,” the sitting girl said. “More like Olaf’s friends, really. What about you?” Rimmer pretended to know who Olaf was.

“We work together,” he nodded awkwardly.

“Oh, what do you do then?”

“I manage a shop. He’s my employee,” he lied.

“Right, that’s cool,” the other girl purred, rolling off the lap. She sat closer to Rimmer. “That uniform is so rad, where d’you get something like that? It doesn’t look like a cheap Halloween costume.” She asked. Rimmer perked up at that.

“You are quite correct. It is a period-accurate uniform from Napoleon's Grande Armée. I had it tailored. Well, I’m not wearing the whole piece, I’m not completely mad,” he explained and the group laughed. “I don’t want to get it ruined at a party, it’s more of a stylised attire with a few accurate pieces.”

“That’s dope. That you’re passionate about it like that,” she said and touched the tassels hanging from his shoulder and then felt his jacket sleeve. “It’s such a nice material,” she said with fascination. Rimmer couldn’t believe his luck.

“In that case, wait until you hear my Risk story,” encouraged, he started narrating his latest campaign at the board game. The guy sitting with them took out a small sachet with some candy, offering his companion one.

“Hey, General, have one with me. It’s really good stuff,” said the other girl. Distracted with his story and the attention he was getting, Rimmer shrugged and reached for one.

“Don’t mind if I do!” he laughed and popped one in. He didn’t notice them looking intently at him as he went on with his story.

* * *

“Anyway, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to visit the gents. But it’s been a delight talking to some like-minded folk! Excuse-moi,” Rimmer said enthusiastically about 35 minutes later and sprang on his feet. The room spun in a very intense way. Like a hundred of strange, indescribable sensations hit him from all around him. Must be the alcohol, he does have a low tolerance. Or just standing up abruptly, he rationalised.

When he left the room, the lights seemed incredibly vivid and bright, even though he swore they were dimmed everywhere when he came in. He shrugged. Again, probably because he was in a dark room for over half an hour.

The third thing Rimmer noticed when he stood in the hallway was his whole body _burning up._

“Who put the heating on so smegging much?” he called into the empty hall. He felt tingles and burning and then _chills_ all over his body at the same time. But he felt good.

Oh my God, he had never felt so smegging good in his entire life.


	9. Voyage to trip-out city

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: drug use
> 
> Also, I posted two chapters at once in case you missed the last one! :)

Rimmer didn’t remember when this sorry excuse for a party became so enjoyable. In fact, he didn’t remember a time when visiting the bathroom was such an enjoyable experience. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been there, but he remembered finding something funny and giggling for a few minutes.

Nevertheless, he decided to venture back to the living area to see what changed. He had wanted to have another drink before, but he didn’t feel like it anymore. He just wanted to talk to someone, maybe dance a bit.

Not all that much had changed. Lister was lounging comfortably on the sofa, talking to Kryten, his fantasy crush girl and some other guys. But everything was better; the music was better, the walls shone brightly, there was no bad smell and Rimmer felt an uncharacteristic surge of affection for all of these people.

However, the first thing really catching his attention was the mess on the coffee table. He didn’t really like the mess and thought it would be a good idea to clean it up a bit. He started to tidy up neurotically, trying to hold as many beer bottles as he could.

“What are you doing, you got OCD, grand-canyon nostrils?” a familiar voice said. Rimmer looked up and smiled.

“Cat the flatmate!” he laughed. “What kind of name is that anyway? Oh, have I told you I love that jacket? Is that velvet?” he reached one of his arms to touch the material. Cat vehemently dodged him.

“Hands off, that’s premium stuff!” Cat slapped his hand away. “If you wanna touch things, greasy-hands over there looks pretty touch-starved.” He pointed at Lister who was conspicuously sliding his arm along the sofa backrest behind Kochanski. Rimmer laughed, turning to Cat with a funny remark only to find him walking away already. He shrugged and continued trying to tidy up the table and surrounding area full of empty bottles and packets of crisps. Lister must have noticed because in a moment he was at Rimmer’s side.

“Rimmer, I thought you left. What are yeh doing, you don't clean up at a party.” He was half-amused and half-concerned. And more than half-drunk. “Can't you just have fun for once?”

“Listy! Just the slob I wanna see! Haven't seen you in a while," he said, ditching the bottles in a corner." I'm having SO much fun actually! It may be the best party I've ever been to actually! Oh those colours, they are... marvellous."

“Eh?”

Rimmer started feeling Lister’s colourful shirt which he decidedly hated before. "Is that some double fabric under it? This is like… padded, oh it’s so soft,” he said with wonder.

Lister first furrowed his eyebrows, and then raised his head to look at Rimmer’s face.

“Man, you’re being-“ he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Rimmer’s pupils. He didn't notice it right away as the lights were dimmed and Rimmer had brown eyes, but he definitely saw it now. He gasped. 

“Rimmer… What did you take?" 

“Hmm?" he hummed, still stroking the fabric of Lister’s shirt and then getting fascinated with the leather jacket.

"Your pupils are dilated. How d’you feel?" 

"Good. I feel wonderful, Listy. You should too."

“Hot? Cold? Anxious? Hallucinations? Really speedy?" Lister listed.

“What are you talking about? Well, come to think of it, I am really cold," he let go of him at last. "I'm freezing, can I borrow a sweater?" 

"Shit, okay. I need to know what you're on – have you ever been on drugs before?" 

" _Drugs_!? I don't _do_ drugs Listy," he gave him a playful look.

"Well, you are now, clearly. I think you took some molly." 

"Who?" 

"Look, I'm gonna get you the sweatshirt." 

"Wait, Listy, don't go. Dance with me. That will keep me warm." Rimmer reached for him and grasped his hands. ‘Only You’ by Yazoo currently played, clearly adding to Rimmer's mood. The melody sounded amazing to him, he couldn't get enough of it. 

"Eh, I'm not much of a dancer, ask Cat for that." 

"He didn't even let me touch his jacket. You're much nicer to me. Besides, I don't dance either. I just want to move," he said, bringing him a bit closer. He tried to sway to the music to his best ability but he didn't care whatsoever if he was good right now. Lister tried to follow the moves. 

"You're the one always wanting to have fun. I'm fun for once and you're the killjoy?" he tells him, bringing his hands up to Lister’s shoulders. Lister awkwardly grasped his elbows, not knowing what else to do. He was not putting them on Rimmer’s hips.

"You're right, you are fun, but not for the right reason. I'm just concerned." 

"You? Concerned? Come on, Listy." The nickname rolled so easily off his tongue, he loved to say it. It made him feel like he had a special relationship with Lister. It was his nickname. Just like the moment they had was special. This whole evening was special. Rimmer never wanted it to end. He'd never felt so close to anyone. He felt so close to the others as well, like there were no social barriers and misunderstandings. Like it was so easy to be liked. Like Lister was. Effortless. 

"You’re a bit red, I’ll get you a glass of water, okay, Arnold?" Lister said and walked across the room to pour a glass of tap water. Rimmer was not having it but Lister insisted he took a sip. Then he took several large gulps and set it down. 

"Oh, oh my." 

"What??" Lister asked.

"I'm a bit… queasy." 

"Smeg, go to the bathroom, go!" Lister rushed him along.

Rimmer turned around to go but only made it as far as the door threshold when he vomited on the carpet and his Napoleonic uniform. 

"Eww, you should have used the hat, it's uglier," commented Cat who was passing by and then got as far away from the scene as possible. 

"Let's get you cleaned up. C’mon." Lister proceeded to lead him down the hallway and when Rimmer continued on his own, Lister returned into the room to shout, "Who the FUCK brought drugs to my party?! I'm an addict, are you out of your smegging mind?!? Whoever that is you can consider yourselves thrown out!" Most people look at him with concern but they just shrug in confusion, glancing at each other. Lister growled silently, going back to check on Rimmer. "Just here on the left, gotta take the jacket off, man." 

Rimmer sat humbly at the edge of the bathtub as Lister struggled to take his jacket off. 

"Are you undressing me, Lister?" he said in a tone Lister couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

"Yeah, you've got barf on you, Arn."

"I don't mind that." He smiled. God, smile looked _weird_ on Rimmer. 

"You should, it's on your precious uniform." 

"Not _that_. Of course I mind that. But life happens. I don't mind the undressing." 

"Um, that's good, man. Makes it a whole lot easier." Lister threw the dirty uniform in the bathtub and walked to the door. “You can use some of the mouthwash.”

Rimmer obeyed, picking up the bottle from the sink just to burst out laughing again. He already forgot it was the bottle of _Listerine_ he laughed so much at before. 

Afterwards, Lister led Rimmer to his bedroom, where he chirpily started examining the surroundings.

“It looks just like you, this room. It’s a mess,” he observed but not in the usual pissed-off tone, it was fonder. He inspected Lister’s trinkets and belongings. He found a pink dressing gown hanging on the door and put it on, incredibly amused.

“Okay, what about a little lie down?”

“You want me in your bed?” Rimmer lifted his eyebrows, then smiling and sitting down on it. He swept off some crisps and crumbs off and lied down. “Hmm, comfy.” He snuggled the pillow. “It smells like you.”

“Is that a…good thing?” Lister asked. He wanted to get drunk tonight. He wanted to have fun, it was his birthday after all. But he was _only_ about halfway to blacking out and this caused a significant hitch in his plan. He couldn’t just leave Rimmer, could he? What if he had another panic attack? That man was unpredictable.

“Not really,” Rimmer said but kept smiling. “Join me?”

“You what?”

“It’s so nice over here. You’re missing out, you know.” Rimmer tried to bring the blanket over himself. Okay, he might be able to fall asleep, that might be the best thing, Lister thought.

“How about I bring you more water?” Lister suggested.

“Come’ere,” Rimmer muttered, looking up at Lister. He lifted the blanket. Lister sighed and came closer. He sat down at the edge of the bed.

“I’m not tired yet, though,” Lister argued playfully.

“Just a cuddle,” Rimmer muttered. That was surprising. Then again, MDMA makes people very affectionate and touchy-feely, he should have known. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to get into this.

“Rimmer, I don’t think you’re realising what’s happening.” Lister crossed his arms, trying to decide what to do.

“Since when are _you_ like that? You _always_ want to fool around and _not_ be serious about anything. Ok, so what if I did accidentally take a psychedelic drug, I might as well make a good time out of it,” he said, looking incredibly silly wrapped in Lister’s blanket.

“It’s not a psychedelic. But it fucks with your neurotransmitters, and since you didn’t prepare for this trip, ya could end up havin’ a real meltdown or overheat, this is no joke, Rimmer, people died on this smeg!” he lectured. Rimmer sat up, regarding Lister curiously.

“Look at you, all responsible adult, David Lister,” he giggled. “Why can’t you be like this at work? Why can’t you know so much about food hygiene and safety workplace policies like you know about drugs?”

“Because,” Lister tried to unwrap Rimmer from the blankets because he looked pretty warm, “safety workplace policies didn’t nearly ruin me life,” he said seriously. Rimmer started to giggle again but then stopped.

“What do you mean?”

“I had my experience too, alright? And it got out of hand. I used to think it was harmless stuff and then you want more ‘cause it feels so good and then you realise you’ve never felt so smegging awful and you wanna do anything to stop it. Anything.”

“But... it is so good. I don’t have any hallucination and I don’t want more. It feels like what life is supposed to be like if it wasn’t terrible. Like I don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

“Well, not now, anyway.” Lister couldn’t get rid of the rational side. He just kept staring into the wide pupils in Rimmer’s brown eyes. “I know how you feel. Like this is who you really are and were always meant to be.”

“Exactly.”

Rimmer looked back into his eyes. At least here, Rimmer was safe and didn’t do some crazy shit he would regret, Lister reassured himself. That was right before he noticed Rimmer’s face coming closer. Smeg. Smeg. Fuck. This wasn’t happening. This most definitely wasn’t smegging happening. Rimmer was leaning closer to his lips.

“Rimmer,” he warned breathlessly. Rimmer put a hand behind his neck, feeling around his dreadlocks. It felt nice, but it was all wrong. His mouth was just an inch away and Lister sharply pulled away and blurted out:

“You know what’s the best thing I’ve ever done on molly?”

“Have sex, probably?” Rimmer said with absolutely no inhibitions. Lister was mortified to hear those words leave this boss’ mouth.

“Eh, not… really. That doesn’t really work. But good guess. Best thing was to be given a backrub.”

“You want a massage?” Rimmer said slowly.

“No, smeghead. I’m offerin’ one. Turn around.”

Rimmer perked up and turned around in the bed. He started lifting his shirt.

“Keep the shirt on, keep it on!” Lister panicked and sighed in frustration when Rimmer obeyed. He couldn’t believe this was how he was going to spend his birthday. He cracked his knuckles and instinctually started rubbing Rimmer’s trapezius muscles – just between the neck and shoulders. Rimmer gasped.

“That is amazing. Is this – is this what it normally feels like?” he asked, bewildered. Lister smiled.

“No, not normally. But close,” he replied and felt a little sorry for Rimmer if he never even got something as simple as a backrub.

“Oh my God,” Rimmer sighed as Lister worked the incredibly tense muscles. He really, really needed this, he assumed. They were basically made out of stone.

“Hey, Rimmer?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me about Yvonne McGruder?” Lister asked suddenly. Rimmer seemed to snap out of his dazed state immediately.

“What?”

“What happened with her?” Lister prompted again.

“You want to know about Yvonne?”

“Yeah. It seemed like something that troubles you,” he replied. Rimmer was quiet for a while.

“You won’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe ya? Just tell me the truth,” Lister said, continuing his massaging half-heartedly.

“It was a year and half ago. Yvonne worked at the Starbug and we became a bit friendly.” Lister hummed in acknowledgement. “We went out. I fancied her. A bit, I suppose. She must have been interested.”

“Okay? And what happened when you went out?” Lister asked, feeling a bit guilty to take advantage or Rimmer’s vulnerable, trusty state but he wanted to know his point of view. Was Rimmer really a bad person? Or was he just damaged?

“We got drunk,” Rimmer continued. “And she, um, well we kissed, you know. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing.”

“How come? Was it the alcohol?”

“That too, I guess. But I don’t often get it going with girls. I didn’t know how to handle it. Before I knew it, she got on her knees there, I just, I didn’t expect—” he got stuck.

“I get what you’re saying. And then what?” Lister guided.

“I drank a little more, and I knew it was time to even the score or go further. But I was so nervous, and _so_ drunk. And I panicked, I wanted to run away, but I was nauseous. I ran for the bathroom, had a panic attack and threw up.”

“Jesus.”

“Can you imagine? Going to town with someone, all hot and steamy, you get undressed, just to see your lover-to-be look at you with horrified expression, throw up and leave?”

“That makes a dent in someone’s confidence. So why were you so nervous?”

“I don’t know. I feel so weird about doing anything sexual. Touching people, in that way. I don’t know what happened. I just couldn’t do it. She was great, don’t get me wrong. Nice body and all that.. But the idea made me so...”

“It’s okay, Arn. It happens, you were drinking.”

“But I told people we had sex, anyway. And she started saying a different story. She must have been so embarrassed, too. And I shouldn’t have lied, Listy, I was stupid.”

“I’m sorry, that’s a bummer.”

“A bummer? Yeah, I would say.”

“But it could be worse, man. You didn’t do anything wrong, consciously, like.”

Rimmer sulked, looking into distance. “Sometimes I feel like I will never find the right woman. Am I really that bad?” he said quietly. Lister’s heart broke a little. He didn’t know why he cared at all, maybe it was the alcohol. It’s always the alcohol. Maybe he should quit it too.

“You’ll find someone. You’re not that bad,” was the best he managed, smiling. By this time, he stopped his massage and Rimmer turned back at him.

“You’re so nice to me,” he muttered, deciding to lie back down into the pillow.

“Nah, I give you a hard time,” Lister smirked, lying back down too.

“Keeps my wits sharp,” Rimmer joked back and laid his head on Lister’s shoulder.

“Oh- okay.” Lister tensed but eventually decided to just go with it. If he wasn’t here for Rimmer, who ever would? He wondered whether he should bother, why was it his responsibility, after all, and what has he ever gotten in return? Nothing.

Lister wasn’t really sure how long he lied there motionlessly next to Rimmer and he certainly wasn’t sure when and why he dozed off there.


	10. La Grande Armée

The ringing of the phone woke Lister up. Reaching for it, he realised he couldn’t hit snooze and that the letters on the screen spelled ‘Todhunter’. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked around the room. Daylight. He accepted the call reluctantly.

“Hmmh?” he muttered.

“David? This is Frank. I’m sorry to call on your day off but I was wondering if you could come in today and cover a shift. It’s quite urgent, it’s only me here, and Kryten’s coming later.”

Lister scoffed. Coming to work in the morning with a hangover? Not a chance in hell.

“Why?” was the only thing he managed to utter, still half-asleep.

“Rimmer called in sick today. We really need a cover,” he explained. That made Lister a little bit more alert, remembering how he fell asleep yesterday. He lifted himself on his elbows.

“No, Rimmer’s-“ he realised he did not know where Rimmer was. He got up from the bed, slowly crossing the room. “Where _is_ Rimmer?” he muttered while checking the rooms in the flat. The only one occupying it was Cat passed out on top of his bed, furry pink coat on and no trousers, holding a- you know what, doesn’t matter.

“I don’t know, he’s got a flu or something. So, can you make it or not?” Todhunter asked.

“I’m hungover, man,” Lister whined.

“If you could at least be here 10-2 for the lunch rush? I won’t push you, though, I know it’s short notice,” he said, and Lister groaned. It’s the patient, undemanding attitude that made him really consider this. Had it been Rimmer demanding he shows up for work, he’d laugh in his face and hang up already. But it wasn’t Todhunter’s fault, he genuinely needed a favour. Lister could probably do 4 hours, he did worse, with a much worse hangover. He really needed the extra money.

“Fine.” He sighed. Only when he hung up, it started to dawn on him why Rimmer might have called in sick. Who knew what he could’ve done while still under the influence of the drugs? He didn’t die or anything, he did call to work, of course he did, responsible smegger. But this was Rimmer they talked about, a man who never missed a day of work. Man who bragged about leading a double-shift with tonsillitis.

Then again, perhaps he was just avoiding people because for once in his miserable life he managed to have fun and let others see it.

* * *

By the third day since the party, Lister basically forgot all about it. Nevertheless, the one reminder of it was Rimmer, who still hadn’t showed up to work.

“Hey, Todhunter,” Lister said close to the end of his evening shift. “So what’s Rimmer got?”

“Aside from a narcissistic personality disorder and OCD?” Todhunter said, not looking up from an inventory list. For once, Lister didn’t laugh at Rimmer’s expense.

“He missed his shift again. Is he really ill or something?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“And you don’t think it’s weird?” Lister insisted. Todhunter looked at him at last.

“I guess? But it’s Rimmer, if he has a real reason not to show up, he probably does. As you said, he never misses work. He’s got so many vacation days accumulated he could be off till the end of the month. I’m just bothered it was last-minute.”

Lister didn’t want to get into detail of why he thought Rimmer might not be okay. But it was strange to him as it had been three days, and even if he had a bad comedown, he should be fine by now. Lister wished he didn’t care, but for some reason he felt responsible for this. It was his party, and they were some of _his_ guests, invited or not, who exposed Rimmer to the drug. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, Rimmer didn’t seem to have an addictive personality like Lister did, but he did have fragile mental health, Lister suspected. 

At the same time, Lister was pissed off. He missed half of his birthday party because of Rimmer. He’d probably say he never asked him to take care of him, but who was going to keep him in check? Lister didn’t want him to ruin the party. Maybe he shouldn’t have invited him in the first place.

Lister wasn’t sure if he wanted to shout at Rimmer – for ruining his night, for making him cover his shifts, for being a smeghead, or, if he was genuinely worried about him. One way or another, he was going to find out. When Todhunter counted the tills’ balances at night, Lister sneaked into the office to have a look at the staff documents. They were all obsessively categorised and sorted in alphabetical order and whatnot in the filing cabinets. Wonder who’s work that was, Lister thought to himself jokingly. Easily, he found Rimmer’s file with personal details.

“Arnold Judas Rimmer,” he read and couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. That will come in handy at some point. “Born 1980, Level two certificate in food hygiene, blah blah,” Lister read. Then he came across a phone number. That seemed the easiest thing, he would just call and see that he’s fine, ease his guilt. He did _not_ want to be responsible for his death in case he run off and got run over by a car. No, wait, he _called_ to work. Still, he would check.

It went to voicemail. Lister scratched the back of his head. That didn’t make him any feel any better. He glanced at the file again, reading over the address. It wasn’t far, he could probably walk. He sighed. Seemed like it had to be done the old-fashioned way.

* * *

Lister knocked on the door and yet again considered what the hell he was doing in front of Rimmer’s place at 10 pm with two take-away curries in hand. He questioned it even harder when Rimmer in fact opened the door; hair tousled, dressed in boxers and a t-shirt that said: ‘Give quiche a chance.” They were both silent with shock for a few beats.

“Lister?!” Rimmer was the first one to say. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing here? Who gave you my address?” He glanced at his wristwatch.

“Er, hey, Rimmer. You seem fine, you’ve got a deadly virus or anythin’?” Lister said and with that took a step back to emphasise his point.

“What are you blabbering about?”

“You haven’t been to work! _You!_ I just… came to check on you, man,” he muttered the second part. This seemed to stun Rimmer momentarily and his expression soften.

“Why?” was all he said.

“Can I just come in or do we stand in the door like gits?” Lister prompted. Rimmer just nodded, dumbfounded, and let Lister come in.

“I’ll just, um...” Rimmer vaguely gestured at his attire and disappeared in another room. Lister put the take-away bags onto the nearest table, just next to what seemed to be mid-game of Risk. He also noticed the music playing in the living room.

“What the smeg?” He furrowed his eyebrows at the overly dramatic classical music. Rimmer just came back wrapped in a beige dressing gown. “I’m not interrupting anythin’, am I?” Lister asked.

“Why, you are, in fact. I was in the middle of the conquest of Middle East but I suppose I can take a tactical break,” Rimmer said. Lister looked around.

“Who’re you playing with?”

“No one?” Rimmer said like it was obvious. “I’m coming up with strategies. You don’t become a master of Risk by improvising.”

“That’s sad,” Lister said when he realised the guy was serious. “And what’s up with the _Star Wars_ music?!” He asked when the music became even more dramatic.

“What do you mean _Star Wars_ music?!” Rimmer strode over to his CD player. “That’s _Der Ritt der Walküren_ from _Die Walküre,”_ he said in surprisingly smooth German. Or, as smooth as German can get, really.

“Say wha’?” Lister shook his head in confusion. Rimmer mimicked the movement and paused the music.

“Wagner, Lister. Opera, rings a bell?” He raised his eyebrows smugly. God, he sounded like Kochanski, Lister thought.

“You speak German?” he asked one of the many questions he had.

“Ja, natürlich,” he lied. “Contrary to you, I like to extend my learning in many areas, bettering myself as a person. You are a scholar your whole life, not only until you drop out of secondary school,” he mocked.

“Okay, first of all, I went to art college,” Lister half-lied in return, “and secondly, I don’t smeggin’ care. I came here to make sure you’re alright but clearly you’re the same old bastard.” He turned around and reached for his plastic bags.

“Wait, wait, Listy.” Rimmer came closer. The nickname in particularly made Lister stop and hear him out. “What did you bring?” Rimmer asked innocently. As if on cue, his stomach growled. Lister laughed soundlessly.

“Curry. You want some, then?”

“Curry? I can’t take spicy. Moreover, I can’t stand Indian. You’ve got anything else?”

“You’re unbelievable.” Lister sat down on the couch and unwrapped the delivery. “Got some poppadoms and prawn crackers,” he stated. Rimmer humbly sat down next to him. He was quiet for a few moments.

“Thanks for checking up on me,” he said at last. Lister was already shoving a piece of naan bread dipped in vindaloo in his mouth when he turned to him. “The truth is, I was not okay,” Rimmer continued.

“What happened, man?” Lister asked.

“I didn’t expect to feel like that after what happened. It was just unbearable.” He looked down. “I couldn’t really fall asleep, so I went back to the party and it was amazing for a while, I felt really connected to everyone, like I understood what this whole endeavour was about.”

“What endeavour?”

“You know, socialising, partying. Connecting to others over frivolous activities.”

“Yeah… Cat mentioned you came back for a while. And that you weren’t even such a smeghead.” He smiled lightly. “You went home then?”

“It was like from minute to minute, everything started losing colour. Like all my happiness started being drained bit by bit until I had nothing but misery left. And not only the usual misery, I am used to that. It was a thousand time worse. I-I don’t know if it just felt like that because I had felt so good or if it actually made me feel worse,” he tried to explain.

“Probably both. I get it, that’s what happens. I was worried it’d make you that way, the comedowns are nasty, especially for people like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it was your first time. ‘cause of your mental health, ‘cause of the way you are, I don’t think you got the proper defence mechanisms to deal with that kinda thing. And you…” He hesitated. “You don’t exactly have a lotta people to talk to, do ya?”

“I see,” Rimmer said, standing up.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, Rimmer-“ Lister sighed.

“That’s how it is. Taking pity on me again, poor Arnold has nobody else to talk to.” He looked into the distance. Lister rubbed his eyebrow in frustration. It wasn’t exactly a lie now, was it?

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Lister said instead, quietly.

“But I don’t know how!” Rimmer exclaimed. “For one night I knew how, and it wasn’t even myself! It was the worst thing in the entire world to come back to reality, I hated it and I couldn’t cope with it!” His breathing escalated. He run a hand through his hair.

“Breathe, Arnold.” Lister stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, buddy.” And for some incomprehensible reason he decided to hug the emotional wreck of a man. Maybe it was because of how much he could relate. It wasn’t easy for him to talk about this, and he didn’t expect Rimmer to show gratitude. But he also knew avoiding the topic will not help either of them.

Rimmer’s posture felt rigid and tense under his arms, even more so than usual. Rimmer took a few deep breaths, motionlessly feeling the embrace. Then he couldn’t take it anymore and untangled himself from the hold, finding his personal space.

“Y-you’re a very..physical person,” he muttered.

“Oh, eh, I guess I am. ‘suppose I like to express meself physically, sometimes. Sorry if you’re, y’know, uncomfortable.”

“No, I,” he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders. “That’s alright,” he said.

“We can talk about it later if ya like.” Lister sat back down and resumed his curry. “Sure you don’t want some? This one’s less spicy. Would make yeh feel better,” Lister said, licking his fingers with endless appetite. Rimmer’s body went rigid once again for some reason and he made a face.

“What would make me feel better is not having my entire flat stinking of curry for the next three days.” He rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, man, but I haven’t eaten properly since… yesterday, really. Covering your stupid shifts an’ all,” he explained. This made Rimmer once realise he needed to cut Lister some slack, no matter how resentful he was about everything. It was just hard to accept the fact Lister went out of his way to do anything for Rimmer. That anyone would.

“I’ll make a cup of tea. You want one?” Rimmer asked and picked up his old cooled off beverage from the coffee table.

“Wif curry?” Lister said with mouth full, turning to him slowly. Rimmer shrugged. “Have you got a beer?” Lister attempted.

“What do you think?”

“Didn’t think so.” Lister ate another spoonful. “Water or milk’s fine, please.”

While Rimmer busied himself with the drinks, Lister noticed a notification pop up on Rimmer’s phone sitting on the table. At first he was wondering why Rimmer never picked up his call when he had his phone near. He might have ignored it or simply missed it, seeing as it was on silent. And Rimmer’s Wagner had been anything but silent.

Now, Lister didn’t _mean_ to read the notification, but he couldn’t really avoid it as it was right in front of him. Lister raised his eyebrows, popping one of the last pieces of chicken into his mouth distractedly. It was a text from Yvonne McGruder. That’s all he saw as Rimmer’s cell phone didn’t have a touch screen. Neither did Lister’s, and he swore by his flip phone, but it’s not like Rimmer couldn’t afford it. It was just another of his stuck-up, practical decisions.

Rimmer spotted the notification when he came back with the drinks. He picked it up and viewed the message with almost perfectly neutral expression. Lister eyed him curiously from below before Rimmer cleared his throat, put the phone down and sat back next to him.

“So…” Lister took a sip of the water Rimmer brought. “Who’s tha’?” he asked innocently. He was decent enough to pretend he didn’t see, of course.

“Who’s what?” Rimmer replied in equal innocence but the subtle blush in his face wasn’t lost on Lister.

“Your message. Anything important?” he prompted.

“A work thing. Not that it’s any of your business,” Rimmer replied matter-of-factly.

“Work thing at half-ten on your day off? What is it – ‘Rimmer, you forgot to order the cucumbers, you bastard’?” he joked.

“Something like that,” Rimmer said and absently reached into one of Lister’s take-away containers. He started nibbling on a poppadom, letting the crumbs fall all over him. Lister furrowed his eyebrows.

“Yeah, right. What is it really, man?” he asked. Rimmer looked at him slowly.

“You read my message, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Why do you care then?”

“Okay, I saw it’s from McGruder,” Lister admitted.

“I knew it! You nosy little Scouse-“

“Hey, come on, it was an accident.” Lister put his hands up. Rimmer scoffed. “Are you two in touch again, then? You can tell me.”

“So you can betray my trust again?” Rimmer sulked.

“I never broke your trust!”

“Oh, I see. What about, ‘Is that the loser who cries at work?!’" Rimmer imitated in Cat’s voice.

Lister giggled between spoonfuls of curry (he did start on the second course, yes). "That's pretty accurate." He said, but after seeing Rimmer's glare, he became more serious. “Look, I didn't know yeh back then, I know like three more things about you now. You can trust me. I'll tell you an embarrassing fact about myself in return, so you got a blackmail material.”

“Yeah, right. But you have no shame,” Rimmer pointed out. Lister thought for a while and then shrugged.

“I guess that's true.”

“It's a kind of invasion of privacy, you know things about me. You read my message, invade my home, my private and personal and confidential things.”

“Ok, woah, I didn't _read_ the message. I just saw it’s from her. So, you wanna tell me or not?”

Rimmer rolled his eyes and resigned. "If you care about my sad love life that much." 

Lister felt a quick mix of emotions but then he smiled and bumped into Rimmer with his shoulder.

“Yvonne asked me out.”

“Seriously?!”

“Don't be so surprised!”

“No, I-uh," he laughed. "I'm not. Well maybe a bit, given the past bummerrama." 

“Thanks for reminding me. What should I do?” Rimmer asked, somewhat distressed. 

“What, are you asking me?” Lister said, dumbstruck. 

“Don't be stupid, Lister. The only reason I'm even considering letting you in on my happenings with Yvonne is that you are clearly doing something right with women.”

“Eh?”

“All your exes come to your parties, still friendly with you. Even your crush still hangs around you and your ogling didn't drive her away. Hilly likes you, you're good with women. Sort of. For a reason I don't comprehend," he added.

“Listen to yourself, they're all my exes for a reason. Kochanski is just polite, and Hilly’s like a friendly gay aunt, don't drag her into this."

“Still, I'm clearly doing something wrong.” 

“Well, 'spose I could give you a tip or two. You're hopeless." Lister grinned.

“On the second thought-“

“No, come on! Just kiddin',” he lied. “You should go.”

“You reckon?“

“Yeah, she clearly forgave you. At the very worst you can be friends. That's what I do if it doesn't work out.”

"I guess."

“You like her right?” Lister asked. Rimmer glanced at Lister, regarding him for a while. “Right?” Lister repeated, raising eyebrows.

“Yes, yes, of course I do!” Rimmer snapped out of it.

“Then say yes.” 

“Alright. I will. The Duke is back in the game!”

“Don't say that.” Lister said simply.

“Ace is back on a love case!”

“Don't say stuff like that. Don’t say ‘big man’, king or iron balls in front of girls, for crying out loud, Rimmer!” Lister sighed.

“You are harsh.” Rimmer brought his mug to his lips and looked into the distance.

“And don't ask her for drinks or you'll get drunk and sick again. Don't go for coffee ‘cause you'll get all jittery and you don't want a coffee breath when you wanna snog. Go for ice cream or tea or some smeg,” Lister instructed.

“You've really done this before,” Rimmer stated, looking at Lister. 

“You’re a different breed, Arnold.” Lister smiled at last. He then took another gulp of water and slumped into the couch. “God, I’m stuffed.”

“I’d say, you ate almost two portions of curry. You’ve got to pace yourself, miladdo, or you won’t be able to lift a box at work.” Rimmer was smiling back almost fondly.

“Hilarious,” Lister said sarcastically. He then noticed the clock on the wall behind Rimmer. “I better get home, I’m knackered,” he announced.

“That’s what working hard does to you. No more slobbing and all-nighters in the world of adults, Listy.”

Lister rolled his eyes, collecting his garbage from the table, to Rimmer’s relief.

“So, you’ll be on shift on Thursday?” Lister asked as he stood up.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Rimmer said.

“You’re feeling better, then?” Lister asked, looking away not to appear like he cared that much.

“I do. I seem to be getting back to normal.”

“Good. And uh-“ Lister fumbled with one of his dreadlocks absently. “You can talk to me, if there’s...y’know.”

He seemed to get stuck there, looking up at Rimmer who seemed just as wordless.

“I just mean, I’ve had more experience. With drugs. And with girls. Come to think of it, what have you been doin’ all your life?” Lister broke the tension with the joke, crossing his arms.

“Just get out, Lister,” Rimmer gritted through his teeth. Lister laughed, heading for the door.

“I’m gonna pop in one of these days so you have someone to play your stupid Risk with. This is plain pathetic,” Lister added, jerking his chin towards the board.

“You’re not _popping in_ anywhere unannounced again!” Rimmer said sternly. 

“ ‘aight, whatever. See you, smeghead,” Lister said and opened the door.

“Wait, Listy.” Rimmer stood up, embarrassingly dramatically. The Scouser glanced back. Rimmer bit his lip nervously.

“Thank you,” he managed to say. Lister gave him a small smile. And then he left.

Rimmer let out a breath he seemed to be holding. Suddenly, he was aware of the deafening silence of the flat. The emptiness and coldness of it. The colours slowly started draining again. He felt instant regrets for half of the things he said. He should have told him more. He should have told him less. He should have made him stay.

Then, he laughed at himself and the absurdity of the thought before resuming the music, loud enough to drown his thoughts, and getting back to his Risk board. He swallowed the anxiety threatening in his throat and took a sip or warm tea.

“Right, where were we, officers..”

But all he could focus on was the overwhelming smell of curry.


	11. Battleships

“Alright, try – A4.” Lister knitted his eyebrows together in focus, absently chewing on his pencil.

“A miss again! You’re going to lose, squire,” Rimmer sing-sang as he made a mark on his paper. “D7,” he said.

“Smeg, ya sank my smeggin’ cruiser!” Lister made a messy scratch in his paper. 

“You need tactical thinking for this kind of game. One thing you cannot beat me at.” Rimmer marked his own sheet neatly.

“I’ve got loads of tactical thinking. How’d yeh think I intercept Kochanski in the hall every week?”

“And yet you are tragically single. Your turn.”

“I only got a submarine left, it’s hopeless.” Lister scratched the back of his head with the pencil.

“Is that a surrender?” Rimmer raised his head proudly.

“Dream on! A5.”

“A miss. H9,” Rimmer played speedily.

“You’ve got to be cheating!”

“Unlucky at cards, unlucky in love,” he mocked.

“Did you look at my sheet when I served that customer?” Lister crumpled his paper and trashed it impulsively.

“Of course not, who do you take me for?” Rimmer was smiling. “And that’s a victory for Rimsy! You know what that means.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m cleanin’ the staff bog,” Lister sulked. He grabbed a mop and left the till area. “Still don’t understand why you don’t let Kryten do it, guy loves that smeg.”

“But it doesn’t make me so happy when Kryten does it.”

Lister rolled his eyes and checked his phone. “Eh, Rimmer, we’ve been closed for ten minutes,” he observed when he read the time.

“I know. I wanted to finish the game.” Rimmer trashed his own home-made sheet of Battleship grid.

“Been a bit quiet, considering we launched the Christmas sales,” Lister mused, eyeing the empty store, now prematurely decorated with jolly winter products and decorations. He, Kryten and Selby were busy putting them up yesterday, but it was a welcome distraction from the routine. “And turn the music off, if I have to hear ‘All I want for Christmas is you’ one more smegging time, I’ll go nuts!” Lister threatened.

“It was your idea to play music in the store,” Rimmer pointed out.

“And I regret it thoroughly,” he sighed as he left to the back to clean up. He didn’t realise Rimmer would get one CD which played all day every day in the store just to spite Lister. Of course, Rimmer didn’t know Lister had a heavy metal CD ready for the next shift, which he planned to put in the player and glue the opening, so Rimmer couldn’t change it. He giggled to himself.

\--

“I think we deserve a bevvy in Starbug after the hard day, watcha think?” Lister said after they finally closed up and locked the store. That took Rimmer off guard. He still couldn’t get used to anyone inviting him anywhere.

“I suppose one won’t hurt,” he found himself saying.

They got caught in a rain when they crossed the road and entered the familiar bar. It was lively with conversation and good spirits at this time. Lister realised it’s been a while since he hung out in pubs, seeing as he used to frequent them nearly on a daily basis. What had he been doing for the past several weeks? He wondered.

“Heya lads,” the ever-present Hilly greeted the duo. “We’re pretty packed, but between us, the couple by the window will pay soon. Sit at the bar and I’ll save you the good seat.” She winked.

“Hil, I could kiss ya!” Lister brightened up. Hilly perkily leaned over the bar towards him, and he gave her a peck on the cheek jokingly. Rimmer stared at the scene with a confused disdain.

They sat at the bar stools, taking their jackets off. Lister ordered the usual and Rimmer had his silly wine spritzer.

“Y’know, if someone told me several weeks ago I’d deliberately go out for a drink with you, I’d tell ‘em they’re not right in the head,” Lister said.

“Thanks very much. But likewise,” Rimmer said sourly, holding the glass to his lips.

“Cheers to that.” Lister raised his pint and clang it with Rimmer’s wine glass. “Why don’t you like me anyway?” He asked right then. Rimmer snorted.

“I can send you an email, a five-thousand-word essay, sounds good? I’ll highlight areas for improvement and divide them into work-related and personal.”

Lister stared at him for a while and then laughed with a shake of his head. “You know what, Rimmer, I actually believe you’d do that, you pedantic git.”

“Don’t doubt it.”

“Did you go to university or somethin’? Seems to me you could use this smartass energy in academia.”

Rimmer went quiet, undoubtedly thinking of a diversion of the topic. Luckily for him, Hilly just swung past them and announced the good seats have cleared up. The two of them moved to the booth by the window where they had a bit more privacy, as well as an atmospheric view of the rainy street.

The one drink turned into three as they chatted. Lister never realised he suggested to only go for ‘one drink’ because that didn’t _actually_ mean one drink in his vocabulary. Rimmer must have not minded because he hadn’t said anything about it. What Lister did notice, though, was that Rimmer gradually stopped diverting the conversation from uncomfortable topics the more he drank and relaxed.

“So, you’ve been more in touch with McGruder?” Lister smirked, trying his luck with something more interesting than work-related chit-chat. Since he was already spending his free time with Rimmer, he might as well try to get to know him better. Rimmer choked on his wine momentarily.

“Not that much, really.”

“You’ve got your date coming up, though?” Lister prompted gently, watching Rimmer’s reaction.

“Uh-hm,” he hummed tightly. “This weekend. Why are you so interested? Have you not got your own love life to obsess over?” he said. Lister exhaled heavily and leaned back in his seat.

“Me love life’s a bit on hold.”

“How come?”

“I’ve been so focused on Kochanski, I haven’t really looked for anyone else.”

“So…What’s the deal with her? What’s so special about her?” Rimmer asked, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know, she just is. I met her when we moved in, and she was there, and she has this face,” he gesticulated, trying to express himself.

“Is this what you told her? No wonder she won’t go with you.”

“No, I mean, she’s so smart and classy, but she has an attitude as well. She knows what she wants, y’know. She can laugh, she’s fun. And obviously, she’s gorgeous. Anyway, I’ve been trynna find the right time to ask her out,” he mused, taking a few sips of his lager.

“What’s the problem? You keep telling me how good you’re with girls.” Rimmer raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

“No, I don’t,” Lister laughed humbly, then sighed again. “At first I was too intimidated, then she dated this git, Tim or Tom, like, on and off,” he gesticulated some more. “Then she’s heartbroken and it didn’t feel right. She probably has me for such a good friend now it’s hard to break it, like.”

“Ah, the typical impasse. You’ve been friend-zoned, Listy.” Rimmer sounded happier than he should be. “Not such a ladies’ man after all. You’re the friend material.”

“Great,” Lister sulked. “At least I’m not the ‘stir up drama and antagonise everyone in the district’ kind of guy.” He glanced at him.

“As you can see, I am sorting it out. All great love stories go through a little bit of tragedy.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Lister muttered. “I hope it goes right for ya,” he said sincerely, looking straight at him. Rimmer wasn’t used to that kind of sincerity, so naturally, it made him feel uneasy. He could deal with the sarcasm and antagonism, but he couldn’t deal with this. He looked away.

“And Kochanski’s missing out,” he whispered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” Rimmer drowned his embarrassment in half of his drink.

Soon, Lister excused himself to leave to the restroom. Rimmer lifted his head, watching him walk away. The amount of alcohol he drank was enough to get a man of his build and tolerance at least moderately tipsy. Maybe even enough to get away with a hasty look at Lister’s arse. Who did he think he was, in those leather trousers? He thought. Lister and his questionable hygiene, who did he think he was impressing with that punk getup? So unprofessional, the amount of times Rimmer had to shoo him to the staff room to lend him spare uniform trousers or tell him to stop putting patches and whatnot on his shirt.

A pair of fingers snapped in front of his face.

“Earth to Arnie. I like his trousers like any other girl but I’m not a weirdo about it.” Rimmer came back to reality, facing the Starbug’s bartender who joined him in Lister’s place.

“W-what are you-“

“So, are you gonna tell him?” she asked instead of letting him finish.

“Tell what to whom?!” he promptly became defensive.

“Oh, don’t give me your repressed attitude. Tell Lister, that you fancy him? It’s obvious, innit?”

“You are delusional,” Rimmer tried to coat his panic in calm insulting.

“I know you, Arn. If you didn’t want me seeing right through you, you should’ve gone elsewhere. You never look at anyone the way you look at ‘im.”

“How exactly do you think I am looking at him?” He crossed his arms.

“Like this,” she said and gave Rimmer the most unnerving five seconds of cheesy schoolgirl crush look he’d ever seen.

“Stop that, you’re making me uncomfortable.”

“Think of how he feels,” she joked. “Admit it, he got under your skin.”

“Absolutely not. Leave me alone, Hilly,” he paused. “As a matter of fact, I am going out with Yvonne this weekend.”

“Oh, bugger.” She rolled her eyes. “That ship has sailed, Rimmer.”

“I happen not to think so.” He raised his chin.

“It’s your business. But don’t think for a minute someone like him will wait around forever for you to get over yourself,” she said sternly, gesticulating vaguely behind herself.

* * *

Rimmer took in a breath of the cool and crisp autumn air when they walked out of the establishment. Lister put on his leather jacket and a cigarette between his lips. Rimmer could savour the smoke the moment he lighted it up, but for once he chose not to complain.

“I always loved this ambience,” Lister said, looking up at the black sky. “When I drove home from a pub on me motorbike. Made you feel alive, y’know.” He took a drag of the cigarette. “Been missing it since I crashed it.”

“Drunk driving and endangering innocent pedestrians and drivers made you feel ‘alive’? Your lifestyle will kill you sooner or later,” Rimmer commented, hiding his hands in his pockets. Lister looked up to meet his gaze, smiling lightly.

“Better dead than smeg, that’s what I say,” he replied.

Rimmer laughed soundlessly. The last time he stood at this spot was after the quiz with everyone, and he had felt nowhere near this good. Maybe it was the fact he drank more this time, and it gave him this hazy, mellow feeling. Or the fact it was just Lister and him, and it was strange having someone paying attention to you only. Especially someone as lively and sociable as him. Rimmer sometimes felt inadequate, like he couldn’t keep up with the larger-than-life spirit Lister had.

“Smeg, again?” Lister said then, holding his hands palms-up in front of himself. A couple of raindrops landed on top of them, and then a few more at increasing frequency. “C’mon,” Lister indicated, leading them to a nearby roofed bus stop.

Lister wasn’t doing anything particularly interesting; he stood under the roof, watched the rain and smoked. But somehow, Rimmer couldn’t keep his eyes off him. Because for some reason, Lister doing ordinary things seemed like the most fascinating thing Rimmer had ever watched. Was he really so drunk?

He watched his lips wrapping around the edge of the cigarette as he inhaled the smoke into his lungs. Rimmer run his tongue over his lower lip. Lister exhaled slowly as he gazed into the distance and Rimmer forgot to blink. Then Lister noticed.

“You alright? You’re trembling, man. Maybe we should call it a day,” he suggested.

“No, I’m fine,” Rimmer said. He was trembling, that was true. But he didn’t feel cold. Lister gave him a sceptical look and rested his cigarette in his hat as he approached him.

“Liar,” he said and started rubbing his hands over his upper arms in attempt to keep him warm. Rimmer let out an involuntary laugh. Lister and his stupid handsy approach. That guy had to get his hands on everything. Contrary to his intention, it only made Rimmer shake more vigorously. Lister’s face was too close. He panicked even more when their eyes met. He suddenly felt breathless.

A few quick images flashed through his mind: him and Lister on the bed at the party, Hilly’s mocking face, Yvonne’s playful face, and at last his father’s disapproving face. He immediately knew he had to snap out of it.

“Will you stop it?!” he said firmly. “I’m your boss, not a random girl, stop fussing.”

“Woah, chill out, it’s not a big deal. Men can get cold too, y’know.” Lister backed off and retrieved his cigarette.

They remained quiet for a few moments.

“Can I have one?”

“Huh?” Lister followed Rimmer’s gaze and offered him the cigarette packet. “I thought you hated smoking.”

“I do,” he replied simply and took one out. He also thought he hated Lister but here he was.

He put the cigarette between his lips and let Lister light it up for him.

“I used to chain-smoke when I revised for exams,” Rimmer explained without Lister needing to ask. He nodded in respect.

“Hey, maybe you’re not such square I take you for,” he grinned.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I’m looking forward to finding out, then,” Lister purred, keeping his eyes on him.

The truth was, Rimmer was a liar. Most of all, he lied to himself. He told himself stories, and usually, they were good enough to believe. So, he could tell himself it was just nice to have someone care and stick around, even though they could clearly saw him for the fraud he was. He could tell himself he was far too drunk, and that he was cold, and that he was, in fact, looking forward to his upcoming date. He could tell himself anything he wanted but it was no use, because when he looked back at Lister and saw him smile, it was hard to escape the moment of clarity.

So, sod it all. Maybe Hilly was right.

He was falling in love with Lister.


End file.
